


Act II

by westcoastatlanta



Series: Acts I and II [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alex is an idiot and water is wet, F/M, Georges is iffy, I mean so is everyone else so, Jamilton but not quite, John can be a little bitch sometimes, Lafayette is so very angry, M/M, Phillip is a bit of a thotticus prime, Phillip needs to worry more about his safety and wellbeing, poor phillip, the Burrs are the only valid characters in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-11-15 05:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 40
Words: 238,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18067304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westcoastatlanta/pseuds/westcoastatlanta
Summary: The Hamiltons were known as a happy family. No health issues really, nothing too terrible has ever happened, and they've always been surrounded by close friends. They're living their best life in their Manhattan townhouse, not caring all that much about anything.But this is the second act, which is always is the most depressing thing you've ever seen.





	1. Phillip is living his BEST life right now

/Phillip/

"You know," Theodosia starts, "dick isn't vegan."

I hiss as I sit down, pain shooting through my back despite the bundled up hoodie Georges gave me, then smirk at her. "It's vegan if you spit."

"Nasty!" Georges yells loudly.

The three of us are sitting under the bleachers during lunch, snacking on our food. Georges has an array of cheese and fruit, Theo has her leftover spaghetti and meatballs, while I snack on my hummus and carrots, laughing. Theo likes to mock me for going vegan, but I hastily remind her that not only am I vegan but my pops, John, is vegan as well. My dad, Alex, has yet to be turned, but we're working on him.

"Who was it last night, anyway? Just out of curiosity," Theo says, her mouth full of food.

I roll my eyes and lean against Georges a bit. "Well, since you're just dying to know, it was Peter Jefferson. He called me over about three am for a booty call and we ended up doing it in the treehouse in his backyard because we were being way too loud for comfort."

"Ew, Peter?" Georges comments. "He's, he's a douche."

"Yeah, well, I heard he's got quite a big..." Theo pauses, searching for the word to use without being offensive. "Taxi."

"Okay!" I say loudly. "I don't want to know where you heard all that!"

"I don't think I know what you are talking about," Georges says quietly.

"Georgie," Theo laughs. "He's packing a stretch limousine."

I laugh. I have a tendency to sleep around. Currently, I have two main fuck buddies, Peter Jefferson, and William Frazer. I'll sleep with other people, but those are the two guys I hit up when I'm horny. I lost my virginity at fourteen and have destroyed any remnants of it since then. My dads, of course, have no idea and think I'm still just a kid, and I'll let them think that. There's no point in ruining their image of me.

"Doesn't that hurt, though?" Georges asks. Georges is Lafayette and Hercules' kid. He's taller than me by half a foot, and unapologetically black. Due to his many on and off summers spent in France, he has a hint of a French accent that will occasionally rear its head when he's tired or angry. He often times has flowers in his hair, though his fashion taste is pretty preppy and casual. Like, today, he's just wearing a black hoodie and a pair of khaki joggers. He is very pretty though. I must say if I didn't throw up in my mouth every time someone said 'monogamy' or 'commitment,' I might have feelings for him.

"Nah, just stings," Theo answers for me. Theo's full name is Theodosia Junior, but we just call her Theo. She's Aaron Burr's kid, as well as her mother, Theodosia, who we refer to as Dosia. She's a tall girl, also taller than me. She has a large body. She's not fat or anything. She just has incredibly wide hips, thick thighs, and large breasts. It suits her though. She is a wonderful definition of the free black female form. She wears whatever she damn pleases and walks around with full confidence. Today, she has on a pair of thigh-high black socks, some tight blue shorts, and a take top tucked into them. Her lips, as always, are painted a bright purple and her wild curly hair is covered with a raspberry beret.

"She's right, though. And besides, I've fucked Peter enough to wear it doesn't even bother me," I state, playing with my septum piercing. One might say I'm punk. I say they are absolutely right. I'm usually found wearing ripped jeans and an old tee shirt, often times protesting something, like my pops, John. My head is usually covered with a grey beanie, and my eyes usually with a pair of black circle glasses. I have a septum piercing, a tongue piercing, gauges, an eyebrow piercing, and a lip piercing.

"Ah! Okay! Why is it that every time I'm trying to eat, we talk about Pip's sex life?" Georges yells. "I just want one fucking lunch where I eat my grapes in peace."

I laugh and lean against him, planting a kiss on his cheek. "You love me."

Georges smiles. "I do."

"You guys are fucking gay," Theo comments, laughing. "Like, just, all of this." She waves her hand over us. "It's gay. You're all gay."

I roll my eyes. "Thank you, Theo."

"Well, if it isn't my sweet Pip," I hear a voice say. A body sits behind me and arms wrap around my waist, pulling me from Georges.

I sigh. "Hello, Peter."

"Hiya, gorgeous," Peter jokes. Peter is a tall, buff, stereotypical fuck boy. He's muscled and built, with short cut hair. His dads are Thomas and James Jefferson. My dad, Alex, works with both of them. Peter isn't really that nice. He's just kind of a douchebag, with no respect for other people, and if he was only packing a 'taxi,' I would never even send him nudes, but the boy, like Theo, pointed out, is packing a stretch limousine.

"I'm with my friends," I tell him, gesturing to Theo and Georges, who I refuse to ditch for a boy, regardless of the reason. I've never bailed on them to go fuck Peter or William, simply because they are priority number one.

"Oh, come on, baby. We can take my car off campus, and maybe do a few things we did last night," Peter whispers, his hand snaking down to the space between my legs.

"Yeah, right. I will be free at four this afternoon. Pick me up at the library, and then drive me home when we're done," I state. "Now shoo. I gave you all my attention last night. Go jerk off to my nudes or something."

"You're making daddy sad," Peter pouts, his hand rubbing me through my jeans.

I groan, trying to cover up the moan in the back of my throat. "Peter, I'm being for real. Get out of here, and don't call yourself daddy."

"Please?" Peter begs.

"Hey," Georges cuts in. "He said no."

Peter holds up his hands in surrender, then stands. "Okay, okay, I'm gone."

"Fucking hell," I mumble, looking down at the slight tent that Peter caused from all the friction. I think about what classes I have for the rest of the day. It almost worried me how excited I get when I realize I have my second to last class with the boy who caused this. "Peter, we're fucking in gym."

"Yes! Bye Pip! Bye Georgie! Bye Theo!" Peter yells, skipping off.

"Why do you do that?" Georges asks me, leaning back a bit.

"Do what?" I mumble, dipping another one of my carrots in my hummus. I know exactly what he means because he's asked me this a million times. He wants to know why I just give myself up to assholes who don't give half a rats ass about me. He wants to know why I just let people do what they want to me and never hear a word of complaint.

"You know exactly what," Georges answers. "Just give yourself up to assholes like, like, like some kind of, like some-"

I cut him off. "Like what? Like some kind of slut? Like a ten cent whore? Georges, with all due respect, fuck off. This is my life, you shouldn't be complaining about it. Besides, last time I checked, I've never once ditched you guys for a boy. I've never turned these assholes into my main priority. It's not my lifestyle, it's just my hobby."

"Yeah but-"

I cut him off again. "No, no no no, you don't get to talk. What I do in my free time is not up for your judgment." I stand up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't feel like being with you anymore. So I'm going to go read."

"Pip, that's not what I meant," Georges calls out as I begin walking.

"Save it, Georges. I don't want to hear anything but an apology," I reply. I walk back into the school and drop my lunch off at my locker, then grab my book and make my way to the library. Unlike my dads, I don't like to read science books or political books. I'm more of a poetry fan. So, in my hand is the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe. I've always liked his poems because they're so dark and almost terrifying. So, as I sit down in the corner of the library, I find myself immersed in a world of murder, insanity, and wrongdoings.

My mind begins to drift to Georges after a while. Why would he say that stuff? As much as I sleep around, I would never label myself as a whore or a slut. I don't care if he wasn't going to use those exact words, I know that's what he meant. God, as much as I love Georges, he gets judgy of my life and my hobbies sometimes. I don't think he means to hurt my feelings, but he does. He's my friend and he's supposed to be there for me no matter what. If not, then does that really make him any better than the assholes I fuck?

The bell rings and I stand up, popping my back. My next class is English, which I have with Georges. I know he'll apologize, and I know I'll say it's okay because that's how it always goes. Maybe it isn't always ideal, because sometimes the shit he can say hurts, but he's my best friend, and I know he doesn't mean it.

"Pip," I hear his voice call as I get my stuff from my locker.

I turn around, a small smirk playing on my face.

"I'm sorry, you're right, I shouldn't have said those things," Georges tells me. He then holds out a small cluster of dandelions. "Forgive me?"

I smile, standing up in my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Anytime. Thank you for the flowers, Georges. I'm gonna press them in my science textbook since god knows I never use that one."

I pull out two tissues and put the flowers between the tissues, then into my science textbook. I always take the finished product and glue it to my walls. Georges has given me lots of flowers, so I've built up quite the collection. Despite my punk rock demeanor, my room holds more of a calming vintage bookshop feel. It has sunlight streaming in for most parts of the day, my walls are painted a light yellow, and my bed, which actually is just a futon, has an old quilt that Hercules, Georges' dad, made for me for a birthday.

"Come on, let's get to English," I say, leaning against Georges a bit as we walk.

"So, how's your essay coming?" He asks me, referring to the one we were assigned in English, the one I've barely started.

I shrug. "Eh. I probably should work on it a bit more."

"Phillip," Georges whines dramatically.

"What?" I whine back in the same tone, smiling.

"You have to do your school work," Georges says as we enter the classroom.

"I don't like it though," I groan as we sit at our desks. Well, Georges sits at his desk, and I sit on his desk.

"Phillip, glasses!" Our teacher, Mr. King, calls out, reminding me yet again that it is against dress code to wear sunglasses in school.

"Sorry!" I call back, slipping my glasses off my face to reveal my brown eyes with a thick line of eyeliner under them.

"You know, Pip," Georges starts. "You have such pretty eyes. Why do you cover them?"

"So people like you can't tell what I'm thinking," I reply back, smirking gently as I run my hand under Georges' chin.

"And why would I not want to know what you're thinking?" Georges asks, leaning his face forward a bit.

I stare into his eyes, and for a second, almost lean in and kiss him. Then I decide against it since it would be a bad idea. "Because you'd get a boner."

Georges laughs and leans back. "Come on, Pip. Get in your seat. The class is starting."

I climb down from his desk and sit in my own chair. "You're still going to tonight's party, right? Like, you're not gonna leave me alone at this thing?"

"Philip Hamilton? Alone at a party? I'll believe it when I see it," Georges says, laughing.

"I got some weed so afterward we can hang in my room and get high," I offer, smiling at my friend.

He tilts his head back and lets out an all too real sounding moan. "Fuck yes. I'd kill to get high. I'll try to steal a bit from my parents before I head out. I'll pick you up around seven?"

I nod as the bell rings, then look to the board.

The school day goes by fine, Peter and I had a quick fuck fest in the gym locker room, and then one in his car in the public library parking lot. After that though, he drops me off at home, kissing me goodbye and telling me I did wonderfully. I don't usually have a lot of self-confidence, so it's nice to feel the change in my mood after I do something like that. I always feel like I can hold my head a bit higher, smile a bit wider, and just be a bit happier. I guess that's the main thing that Georges doesn't get about this. He, he can just feel good about himself, regardless of anything else. He is unapologetically Georges. Me? I can't just feel good about being me. It takes a little bit. And if meaningless sex is that little bit, then I'm not complaining.

"Hey kid," says my dad, Alex, says as I walk through the door of our four-story brownstone. "Did you eat?"

Since I wasn't about to tell my dad about the dick I just sucked, I shook my head. "No, no I didn't. Do we have any leftovers?"

He runs his hand through his short greying hair. I know back in college it used to be grown out and long, but now it's clean cut and short. He still has the goatee though. "Yeah, we do. Check the fridge. I know John took some of it to work for lunch, but he didn't take all of it."

I pull out some leftover vegan pad Thai and begin to eat it out of the Tupperware. "How was work? Any murder cases?"

My dad laughs. "Ha, I wish. We had a case of fraud, but that was it. It was a quick case, only lasting about six hours. What about you? Anything fun happen at school?"

I shrug, sitting at the kitchen bar with him. "Not really. It was school. Same old, same old."

"Well, your other father should be home any minute now," my dad chuckles. "Any plans on this Friday night?"

I nod. "Georges and I are gonna head to a party. Nothing big."

"Don't get into trouble. If you need a ride home, call me," my dad replies, smiling.

"Family! I'm home!" I hear my pops call from the doorway. He, like my dad, used to have long hair in college, but now has it cut short. I look a lot like him since, by technicality, I am his biological child, but I inherited my dad's attitude just by exposure I think.

"Hey there, my beautiful husband," my dad says to my pops, standing up and giving him a small kiss on the lips. "How was your day?"

"A day it was!" My pops replies. "You would not believe how much a sea lion can throw up on you! I swear, it just didn't end!"

"Hey, babe? Go change and shower," my dad requests, edging away from my pops.

"Yeah, please do," I encourage. "I'm not hugging you until I know that you are one hundred percent vomit free."

My pops smiles. "Ah, family life."

"Oh, hey, let's order a pizza for dinner. Phillip is gonna go to a party so there's no sense in cooking a big dinner. I'll call in for one in about half an hour," my dad calls out as my pops walks upstairs, heading to the bathroom.

"Okay!" My pops replies, most likely already in the bathroom. I finish up eating the pad Thai and then throw the Tupperware in the sink before sitting down on the bench at the kitchen table on the other side of the counter. My dad is still sitting at the kitchen counter, looking through papers. I decide to pull out my phone and text Georges since I know he's most likely just dancing around his room to French pop.

Me: Hey.

Him: Salut, my Anna Sun, comment ca va?

Me: Bruh, why do you call me that?

Him: It's an old song that my dad showed to me. He said that if my pa was gonna get me into new French pop, he was going to get me into old American pop.

Me: Okay, but why does the song remind you of me?

Him: It's about love, being young, and being content with what you have, regardless of how little it is. It reminds me of your spirit, mon plus cher.

Me: Maybe it is a good song, but will it ever amount to Africa by Toto? I think not, my friend. Until Anna Sun can bless the fuckin rains in our mother country, then it doesn't hold a flame to Toto's great work of art.

Him: Sometimes I wonder why I talk to you.

Me: Then I'm doing my job.

"Hey, kiddo," my pops says, ruffling my hair. He has a towel around his neck since his hair is still dripping from his shower a bit. "How was your day?"

I shrug. "Same old. Hung out with Georges and Theo, skipped gym."

"You did not!" My pops starts, almost gasping.

I laugh, holding up my hands. "I didn't, I'm just kidding."

"Good," my pops says sternly, opening up the fridge and then groaning a little bit, probably because he realizes I ate all the leftover Pad Thai. I almost chuckle a bit.

"Okay you two, come on, sit around the counter," my dad says, putting his papers to the side. Since the bench is pushed up against the counter, facing into the dining room, I just turn around on the bench and place my elbows on the counter. My pops has seated himself next to my dad and is subconsciously playing with his fingers. I know this sounds cheesy, but my parents really do have a good marriage. They just love each other, and nothing could change that. Sure, they have disagreements, but they've never really fought.

"How was y'all's day?" My pops asks, his South Carolinian roots shining through.

"My day was incredibly boring. We had a case of fraud, and it's supposed to last all week. I love arguing, but this is just boring. I'd kill for a good murder." My dad groans.

My pops laughs, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I'm sure you could get Monroe's neck over a block if you asked nice enough." He smiles, then pops his back, making my dad shudder. "I had a pretty good day. The weather was nice, and I got to hang out with some seals."

"I'd like to feed Monroe to the seals," my dad mutters.

My pops rolls his eyes. "I'm going to chose to ignore my husband's petty feuds and ask my son how his day was. Phillip? Anything interesting?"

I shrug. "Hung out with Georgie and Theo. It was casual. Nothing much happened."

"Any homework?" My pops asks.

He wants an answer, so, you know, like a liar, I say, "Nope. I do have a party that I will be attending tonight, though, with my dearest, Georges."

"With a comma after dearest," my dad notices. "You and Georges, you're close?"

I nod. "Yes, I would say so. He is one of my closest friends after all. I know other people, like Theo and what not, but I think Georges is the only one who really knows me."

My dad and pops exchange a look.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Nothing," my pops smiles.

"Hold up, I'm your kid. You can't, like, put up a language barrier." I laugh a bit. "Rosetta stone! I need a translator for the language my gay married parents have that involves no words!"

"When you're a gay married dad you'll know how to speak our language," my dad tells me, smiling. "Now, I'll order pizzas. One real pizza from the place down the street and one fake pizza from that nasty vegan place. I'll make sure they put extra pesto and plenty of mushrooms on it for my vegan son and husband."

My pops laughs. "You know, you are lactose intolerant, Alex. So maybe if you just ate the freakin' vegan pizza you wouldn't be farting all night, forcing me to sleep on the couch."

"I eat dairy on purpose so I can have the bed to myself," my dad jokes.

I roll my eyes. "You guys are weird. Gorges is coming in an hour so I'm gonna get dressed now so y'all can approve and I don't have to change ten minutes after I was supposed to leave like last time."

"Pip you were wearing underwear! Those didn't even count as shorts!" My pops argues as I saunter upstairs. I only laugh in response.

I like living in a brownstone house. They're these skinny tall brick houses, usually about three or four stories. Ours is four stories. The first floor is our kitchen and dining room. We have a kitchen counter separating the rooms that used to be a wall apparently but was turned into a counter due to it 'interrupting the flow of the room.' The bench leans against that counter, and if you sit on the bench at the table, you can see everyone walking by the house. The second floor is the living room, bathroom, and guest room. The old creaky steps go right past the living room and into the third floor, which is the second bathroom, the office, and my parent's room. Then, finally, the fourth floor, the attic, and my room. Well, almost my room. There's a large curtain running down the middle so I'll have my room, and then the other half is the art room where my pops and I paint and draw together. My dad isn't much of an artsy person but will sit in the bay window and read while we do art.

My room is nice. It has nice slanted walls since it's the roof, with a large amount of art, from anti-gay propaganda given to me by my dad and pops to a large poster of a burlesque queen with Edgar Allen Poe's face glued over it. A nice window with a fire escape leading into the backyard gives me an easy time sneaking out and a sturdy futon bed makes it very discreet when I have, well, guests over. Or when I've found ways to entertain myself.

I rummage through my sheets until I find my laptop, then facetime Theo to get her help with my outfit. She's always been very good at clothing, so as I place my laptop on my vanity, I feel confident that I'll be walking into this party looking my very best.

"Hey, fairy boy, what's up?" Theo asks, her face covered in a green face mask, her hair up in a bun. I can see her friend, Franny, in her room, dancing. Theo and Franny are always together. Franny goes to a private school uptown, so they can't hang out during class, but Franny is often over at Theo's house.

"I got a party tonight. What should I wear? Parents approval is a must," I say, sitting down and looking in the mirror as I mess with my hair.

"You should wear that old American rock band crop top," Franny says, her sweet Russian accent singing through the air.

"You make me sound like such a gay when you say crop top," I laugh.

"Well, you do wear them a lot," Theo points out.

I groan loudly. "It's not like I'm some 'flower soft boy.' I just like the way they look on me. What else should I wear?"

"Black and white pinstripe pants," Theo suggests. "And the denim jacket with all the patches. How are you gonna do your hair?"

I shrug. "Eh, it's kinda dirty, so I'll probably just wear a bandana."

"Okay, kid, come on, get dressed, let's see how it looks," Theo says, laughing as she begins to peel the face mask off. I stand up from my vanity and strip from my school clothes, then find the ones they told me to use. I had to substitute the old rock band crop top for a grey one with the phrase 'they are always watching' on it.

"How do I look?" I ask, rolling up the bandana to tie around my head.

"Hey, what happened to the other top we suggested?" Franny asks, painting her nails. "I like that one."

I smile as I tie the fabric around my head and sit back down. "It was dirty. I wore it to a rave over the weekend and I haven't done laundry since. Usually, a day's wear wouldn't stop me, but it smelled like vomit and sex, which is usually what a rave smells like."

"Ah. Well, you look good. Who're you going with?" Theo asks.

"Georges. We're gonna be there for a bit, but then come back to my house and get high for a bit, maybe make out. I dunno," I say, reapplying my eyeliner.

"You two are so fucking gay," Theo laughs. "Why do you put up with his shit?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, looking at her as the eyeliner pen is pressed to my lid. I know there's only so long I can hold it there before I smudge it, but the first layer of eyeliner I have on has been there for about three days, so any smudging won't do harm.

"Like, the boy criticizes you for doing what you want. Just slap the man, you've forgiven him way too many times," Theo tells me.

"Well, firstly, in case you haven't noticed, out of all the assholes I attract, Georges is the nicest, plus I enjoy his friendship, so I will not hit him," I state, shooting her a quick glare. "Besides, I'll settle down one day. Georges is just insulting a phase I have."

Theo rolls his eyes. "You let him off so easy. Whenever he fucks with you, I always make sure to give him a piece of my mind. Sometimes I think the only reason he apologizes is that I knock a little sense into him."

I roll my eyes and smirk. "As much as I appreciate you looking out for me, I can handle Georges just fine on my own. I have more power over him than he has over me."

"Pippy! Pizza's here!" I hear my dad call from downstairs.

"Shit, I gotta blast. Bye Fran, bye junior!" I say.

"Bye, Pippy," Theo teases. "Have enough fun for both of us."

I nod. "Will do."


	2. Half the population of New York would kill to be between Phillip's legs

/Phillip/

I wave to my dads as I walk down the stoop and to Georges vintage baby blue slug bug, where he sits. It's a small two passenger car he got from his godfather, George Washington. George Washington is my dads boss and Georges' dads boss. Peter's parents also work for him. George has a fair amount of money due to the mass amounts of careers he's gotten and a large amount of money he pulls in for having one of the most successful law firms in New York City. We always go over to eat dinner at his house on Sunday.

"Hey, gorgeous," I say, sitting down in the passenger seat.

Georges, who's wearing an orange hoodie and some blue skinny jeans, smiles. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and a flower crown is over his head, drawing attention to his shining highlight. "Hello, my Anna Sun. Are you ready to grind on random strangers until we get bored and then end up going back to your house and smoking pot?"

I nod, leaning back and letting out a breath. "What are we listening to?"

Georges points to a cassette case as he turns out of my neighborhood. "Boys II Men."

"Yes! I love them," I cheer. Georges and I have a very similar taste in music sometimes. When he's not listening to modern French rap, he's listening to American music from the eighties and nineties, which is the era of music I love the most. So, we are often times singing our lungs out in the car together, on our way to wherever we're going.

"So, where are we going?" Georges asks as he turns into another neighborhood.

"Sixteenth street. Peter's friend, Jacky's house," I state, checking my eyeliner in the visor mirror.

Georges scoffs.

"What was that?" I ask, looking at him.

"I thought we were hanging out tonight," Georges says.

I roll my eyes far enough into the back of my head that I can see my brain cells dying from how ridiculous he can be sometimes. "Georges, I have never and will never ditch you for a boy. Peter invited both of us because he knew I spend Friday nights with you. He has eight other people there who he can get off in. Tonight, I'm all yours. So stop being such a baby. If I was hooking up with him tonight, I'd already be there, with him. I wouldn't waste your gas money for a booty call."

"Well, at least you're considerate," Georges jokes, smiling.

I nod. "I am. I heard Theo tried knocking some sense into you. She didn't knock anything else into you, right?"

He laughs as he turns onto William's street. "I got a well-deserved smack on the back of the head, but other than that, the only thing she knocked into me was some sense."

"Good," I mumble, wiping away a bit of a smudged eyeliner.

"And... We're here!" Georges cheers, parking the car. Jacky lives in a more suburban area, so his house is colonial in a neighborhood of colonials. Three stories, light wood, pretty. Since his parents went out of town to go see a concert in California, he's decided to throw a party on this fine Friday night. It's already booming, music blasting, people dancing and drinking. So, your stereotypical high school party.

I step out of the car and stretch, then begin walking in with Georges holding onto the back of my jacket so he doesn't lose me. When he and I find each other in crowds, we are oftentimes holding onto each other. He's usually behind me, holding onto the hem of my shirt or jacket. When I'm behind him, my hand often time ends up in his back pocket, holding onto it and letting him guide me. Since we live in New York, getting lost is something that is a very relevant possibility, so we always make sure to form some type of chain so we stay together.

"They're not even playing good music," Georges whines as we step into the house.

"Boo hoo," I mock, laughing.

"Stay sober, for me?" Georges requests.

"You know I will baby. It's our Friday night," I state. I reach back and take his hand, then pull him to the area where people are dancing. I wrap my arms around his neck and smile, swaying my hips to my beat and mouthing the lyrics. Georges smiles and dances with me, putting his hands on my waist and mouthing the lyrics with me.

Due to the number of people in the room, Georges and I only have enough room to grind on each other, but that's kinda normal for us. We have never fucked, nor have we done anything really sexual besides grinding and making out. It's kinda normal for us though, because that's how we pass time sometimes. I always had the understanding that we weren't allowed to catch feelings for each other, so it was never a problem for me. Sometimes I get a sneaking suspicion though that Georges might've developed an adolescent crush on me, just because of the way he acts when I talk about other guys or the way he looks at me. He's the only guy who looks at me like that.

"Pip!" I hear a voice say.

I turn my head to see Peter, grinding on a girl. I place one hand on Georges' chest to make sure William knows that I'm here with Georges tonight. "Hey, Pete, nice party."

"Shit music, I know," Peter laughs. "I don't have control of the aux, though, so don't blame me. Have fun, you two. Not too much fun, though. I don't want Pip actually settling down with someone."

Georges rolls his eyes.

"Go eat a dick, Peter," I laugh.

Pete just smirks and then goes back to his girl. I turn to Georges and begin rubbing my hand up and down his chest as we grind on each other. Georges is the more dominant one in the grinding, obviously. As big as my ego is, I could never be the top in a relationship. Besides, I simply exude the ideal chaotic bottom energy. Georges is, by mine and Theo's definition, a valid neutral top.

A few hours, and then a few more pass, and soon enough it's one in the morning and Georges and I are driving back to my house, singing to Britney Spears. The two of us bond over ironically loving her. For Theo's fifteenth birthday, she had it at a karaoke place, and there's still film circulating the group chat of Georges and I singing Toxic together while our parents boo us and Lafayette calls us dry gays.

"Okay, gotta be quiet. The ladder goes right past my parent's room," I whisper as I take off my shoes. I tie the laces together and hang the shoes around my neck, then begin climbing. Georges does the same and we quietly make our way up to my room. Brownstones are pretty tall, so when we make it to the fourth floor on the ladder, we're pretty high off the ground. I make my way into my window and then help a shaky Georges in.

"I will never understand how you get used to that," Georges mumbles as he sits down on my bed, slipping off his jeans so he can be more comfortable.

I shrug as I get out my tin box with my blunts and pot in it. "I just, do. Indica or Sativa?"

"It's late, so Indica," Georges states.

I pull out a few blunts and set them on my vanity, then change out of my clothes into just my shirt and boxers. I grab the blunts and open the window, then turn on my fan before lighting them up. I hand one to Georges and then take one for myself. We both take hits and relax, lying back on my comfortable bed.

"I think you're pretty," Georges says, rolling on his side.

I blow smoke out of my nose and laugh. "Thank you, Georges."

"Put on some music, your room is too quiet," he requests.

I take a hit, letting the blunt hang between my lips as my exhale, then get up and plug in my phone to my speaker. I turn on some old nineties punk and lie back down on my bed. Georges smiles and blows smoke over my face. I've always enjoyed the smell of pot. It relaxes me, even if I'm not smoking it. I usually prefer to smoke it though, so that's why the school dealer, George Eaker, has my number and knows my exact order by heart. I've been buying since freshman year. Eaker is graduated but is going to community college, so you can still buy from him. He has an easier time getting more stuff now that he's at legal drinking age.

I know my dads smoke pot. I've known since sixth grade. It's not like they try to hide it from me. Usually, on a summer night, they'll be sitting in the backyard together with Lafayette and Hercules, smoking and telling stories. Georges and I would always sit with them because there's nothing more entertaining than hearing stories about the stupid things our parents have done while high. Apparently, they all got really high together once and took the subway all the way to lower Manhattan, where they ordered a large pizza and ate it in a park while singing old pop and laughing. Eventually, they had to be picked up by Washington.

"You know," I start, crawling onto my bed and pushing Georges on his back so I can straddle his hips. "There are at least four boys who would kill to be in my bed right now."

"Well," Georges smiles, taking another hit off of his blunt. "I'm glad I'm the one you have between your legs."

"You're so fucking gay," I snort, leaning back against his bent knees.

"Oh my god, aren't you the one who has like, two other lovers?" Georges asks, rolling his eyes as smoke floats out of his mouth.

I nod. "Maybe so."

"I think." Georges takes a hit of the blunt in his hand. "You are a tease."

"How so, Mr. Georges Washington de Mulligan Lafayette?" I giggle, leaning forward a bit.

"You walk around in those cute little outfits, talking, smiling, and you have like, a great butt." He blows some smoke in my face. "I think you just like to tease everyone else. And then, half the people who want to be more than fuck buddies or friends, you, you say no. You always say no. Why do you do that?"

I lean down a bit farther and plant a long kiss on Georges' neck, then lean up to his ear. "I say no, because then when I finally say yes, it'll be so much sweeter."

Georges groans and flips us, then we begin making out.

Georges and I aren't what I would call fuck buddies or friends with benefits. Georges isn't like the other guys who'll text me late at night and ask for a booty call. No, Georges is different. Georges cares about my wellbeing and such. I don't think Peter or William give half a rats ass about me, to be honest, but I don't care. Georges does though, and I think that's why I'm so scared of doing anything past kissing and a bit of occasional grinding with him. Because that would mean I'm not just having a late night fuck. The sex would be full of compassion and care, and I've never had sex like that. I've never been more than just a quick fuck. Georges hasn't ever had sex, and I sure as hell don't want his first time being with me. It's not that I think very little of myself, I just don't like being a first. I've never been a first kiss, a first fuck, a first anything. That's another reason I refuse to take it farther with Georges. His firsts deserve to be special.

"Fuck, Pip," Georges moans quietly as I grind into him.

I only let out a small chuckle and roll my hips again, letting this sweet virgin get some sexual exposure from something besides his left hand. It's honestly cute, how he becomes putty the moment I start kissing him. Honestly though, if Georges was open to fuck, I would've hopped on his dick a while ago. From what I've felt through his boxers, he's not exactly, well, short. Longer than Peter, by an inch at least.

"God, you're killing me," he mumbles as he plants kisses on my face.

"I know, Georges Washington de Mulligan Lafayette," I state, smirking as I plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "I know."

~

We wake up the next morning, tangled together in a mess of sheets and limbs. I groan and stand up, turning off my fan and closing my window, thanking the Gods that my room no longer smelled of the devil's lettuce, though I don't think my parents would exactly get mad. After I close my window, I turn on the radio to NPR and grab my art box, then make my way back to my bed. Georges grabs a sketchbook and begins drawing, while I grab my notebook and start writing some poetry. I gotta admit, it's pretty gay, but I've always been one to love poetry, so I have not a single problem as I write whatever comes to mind. A straight hour of this is soon interrupted.

"Well, aren't you guys just a bunch of party animals," my pop says, coming into my room with pancakes. "Is this NPR?"

I groan loudly. "Remind me again why you don't work on weekends?"

My pop sets the plates down on my nightstand. "Because if I did, your father would work himself to death, and then bring himself from the grave to work some more. Someone has to be responsible around here because you are sixteen and your father is four." My pop looks to Georges. "Hiya, hun, it's good to see you. When you get home, you give your dads my love. Tell them that I can't wait to see them tomorrow."

"Will do, Mr. Hamilton," Georges smiles.

"My name is John," my pop calls out as he walks out of my room and down the stairs.

"Speaking of my dads, I should probably head out soon. I'll stay and eat with you but then I gotta skedaddle," the French American boy sitting next to me says as he reaches for his food.

"You draw so well. I will never understand how you do it," I mumble, adjusting the sketchbook in his lap so I can see.

Georges shrugs, his mouth full of pancakes. "Practice, I guess. I used to be way shittier."

"Well," I start, grabbing my plate. "I don't have enough patience for practice. I'd rather write and think I'm the shit until I get better. That's the cool thing about writing, the only thing you think is really bad is the writing you did in the past. Like, maybe other people would say my writing is only okay right now, but I think I'm the fucking shit. Like, damn, there he goes, Phillip Hamilton, the most bomb ass poet you know."

"Just like your father," Georges comments, laughing.

"But bolder," I finish, shoving pancake in my mouth.

Georges leans back a bit, looking at me. "You remember last night?"

I shrug. "Yeah. Weed doesn't fuck with my brain as it fucks with other peoples."

Georges hums, taking another bite of his food.

"Why do you ask?" I question, moving some of the butter around in my pancake with my fork, trying to spread it a little more as it melts.

"Just wondering," he replies, his mouth full. "Does the sweet Phillip Laurens Hamilton have any plans today? Or is he going to be a little shut-in and make another collage?"

I roll my eyes, lightly punching Georges in the shoulder. "Actually, I do have plans today. William wants to take me out for lunch, and then my dad's and I are going to catch a baseball game tonight. Yankees are playing Chicago and we got nosebleeds."

"You're going out with William?" Georges asks slyly. "I thought you didn't do dates? Like, aren't they, I dunno, not your thing or something?"

I roll my eyes, laughing. "They aren't. This isn't a date. A date would require me committing to William and William committing to me. He specifically stated that we could just get some food or something at a cafe, hang out, and then fuck. You, Georges, are clearly unaware of how casual fuck buddies act sometimes. It's not always hot and heavy sex."

"I will never understand you, don't you fall in love?" Georges mumbles.

I shake my head. "I don't let myself fall in love with anyone. The moment I get feelings for something, I push them back down and ignore the ever living hell out of them."

"Okay, mister commitment issues," Georges laughs.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. At least I don't waste time focusing on one person."

"What's so wrong with that?" Georges asks, pouting.

I smirk, setting down my plate. "It only sets yourself up for heartbreak."

~

"Fuck! William!" I groan as I come all over the back seat of his car. My face is pressed into the fake leather as he continues for a few more seconds, then finishes with a loud grunt and a few curse words. He leans over me, resting his head on my back, and for a few seconds, we stay like that, him gently rubbing my hips and holding me against him.

William and Peter are two very different people. I think that's what I like about them. Because they prove that people are so very different in this world. It's not like I enjoy one more than the other, because each of them has their pros and cons, I just like the diversity between the people I fuck because It's nice to be around different people.

William is a lot nicer than Peter. Sure, the sex can get rough, but he does things differently. He doesn't text me for three am booty calls, ever. Instead, he'll pick me up, take me out to do something, like bookshops or ice cream, and then we fuck. It's never sweet, usually just hot and messy. He's never done anything special for that, only because he knows I would literally leave if I walked into his bedroom and he had rose petals scattered on the sheets. After the sex though, he'll usually hold me for a little bit, praise me, make me laugh, so he's not exactly a bad person to spend an afternoon with. I usually leave with a burst of self-confidence.

Peter is different. He's, he's not sweet, but that doesn't mean he's not enjoyable either. The boy has trouble connecting to his emotions, so I never get sad if he can't call me pretty as William does. No, Peter instead fucks me and then acts like we're just friends hanging out afterward. Like, we'll be lying in his bed, my face covered in his come, his neck covered in hickeys, and he'll just make stupid dick jokes and complain about school and stuff like that. It's nice though because the conversation is always light and comfortable. Though, in the end, as I'm leaving, I'll usually get a shy snippet of praise. Mostly him telling me I did really good, but it's nice to hear. Peter isn't really a praiser, but he always tries for me.

"So pretty," William mumbles, pulling out of me and rubbing my ass gently.

I groan and roll onto my back, staring up at the man above me. He's lighter skinned, like me, with freckles on his cheeks. He has black curly hair that is cut into a fohawk style, and plump lips with a jawline that could cut ice. He's pretty attractive, not gonna lie. "You flatter me."

William smiles and leans down, planting another kiss on my lips. "Good."

"Mmf," I grunt, reaching down for my pants. "What time is it?"

"Two-thirty," William answers.

"Fuck, I gotta get home. Be a doll and drive me," I request, smiling as I sit up and begin to put my clothes back on.

"Anything for you, gorgeous," William says. He slips on his pants and climbs into the front seat, starting the car and driving as I slip on my jeans and tee shirt in the back. I grab the come rag William keeps in the car for occasions like this and wipe down the seat before any remainder of the sin that just happened stains into his car permanently. When I finished getting dressed, I slip into the passenger seat and plug my phone into the aux cord. I turn on some old pop and sing lightly as we drive through New York to my house.

"Thanks for the ride," I say as I get out.

"Ha, thanks for the sex, Hamilton," William laughs.

I roll my eyes. "Have a good day William. We still on for Tuesday?"

He nods. "Yeah. We can head to my place after school. You got anywhere you need to be afterward?"

I shake my head. "Nah, not really. Alright, if you need nudes or something, hit me up. Bye, dude. Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," he replies.

I lean in and kiss him, then close the door and walk into my house. My dad and pop are at the counter, eating sandwiches and talking. I wave to them and make my way upstairs and to the shower before they can smell the sex wafting off of me. The shower is quick and soon enough, I'm changing into a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, a white tee shirt that goes down to the middle of my stomach, and my Yankees jersey, which I just leave unbuttoned. I slip on some leather fingerless gloves and then apply my eyeliner. I throw my hair up in a quick bun and then make my way downstairs to the kitchen so I can get some food.

"How was the date?" My dad asks me casually.

"Not a date," I inform him, laughing as I grab some leftover vegan pizza.

"Oh? Not a date?" My pop asks. "Is that why you kissed him before you got out?"

"Shut up, it's a platonic thing for me." Not a lie. "William is just a friend."

"That's what I said about your father," my dad states, laughing as he grips my pop's knee and leans back a bit.

I raise an eyebrow. "Well, I may be a big ol' mixture of the both of you, but I did not inherit being a pussy. If I like someone, then they'll know. Currently, though, I don't like anyone. If I did though, I certainly wouldn't subconsciously flirt with them until college and then finally kiss them and leave for South Carolina the next day."

My dad and pop share a look.

"Don't call us out like this, Pip," my pop jokes, leaning against my dad a bit.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever, losers. When are we leaving?"

"Uh, probably about fifteen minutes. Is your phone all charged up?" My pop asks.

I nod, pulling it out and checking the eighty percent. I slip it back in my pocket and turn on the small box TV in the kitchen, flipping it over to the news. I lean against the counter and watch as politicians argue. When my dads were in college, our president was the equivalent of a horse in the hospital, as Hercules likes to put it. He fucked us up pretty bad, ruining our health care system, making cruel laws concerning immigrants, as well as women and LGBT people. Not to mention he and half the system were accused rapists. So, now, over twenty years later, we're still cleaning up his messes and sweeping the rich white men out of the government. Thankfully though, we currently have a black woman for president, and god damn, she is relentless.

"I'm glad this country has stopped being so shitty," my dad states.

My pop nods. "Me too. I don't want our son growing up in a world like that."

"I like Yvette Clarke," I mumble. "I also like that she came from New York."

"I was her lawyer for a little bit," my dad says. "Well, Jefferson, Madison, Burr, and I. But still, it was pretty cool. She's a great lady."

"Okay my family, I do believe it's time for us to head out," my pop says.

I nod and we all get our shoes on and walk out of the of the house. Walking down the street as a family, I have to admit, it's pretty nice. The world has gotten safer for us. I know my fathers grew up in a scarier time to be a gay person of color. I know the N-word was thrown at them every other day in high school. I know my dad was targeted relentlessly for being an immigrant. I know that they were sometimes scared to be alive. I don't have to feel that though, and I'm so thankful for that. Because I know that my pop still gets nightmares from when he was shot, that my dad still can't function properly when it storms. I know their childhood has lasting effects on them. I'm just thankful nothing in my life has done that.


	3. *Intense chanting* wait for it wait fOR IT WAIT-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)

/Alex/

I walk into work on Monday, skipping almost. Fresh hickeys from John cover my chest, and I have a lunch date with Lafayette, one of my closest friends. My son is in school, my husband has work, and I am in good health. So, as I pass our wonderful receptionist, Jane, I can't help but smile and wave to her, then step onto the elevator.

I still work at Washington's law firm. Not as an assistant or anything though, as one of the top lawyers. Washington's law firm quickly became known as one of the best New York law firms there is, thanks to the elite lawyers Washington has. From college, he hired Jefferson, Madison, Lafayette, Burr, Angelica, and I. He hired a few outsiders, James Monroe, Frederick Muhlenberg, plus some others I didn't care to learn the names of. Due to my introverted self, I hadn't made friends with any of the outsiders, I simply stuck with my college group. Even if I had tried, I don't think I would've gotten very far because James Monroe and Frederick Muhlenberg are some of the vilest people I've ever had the curse of associating with. Washington doesn't even like them that much, but they're damn good lawyers, even I have to admit that. So, I'll just ignore them and do my job. Currently, Angelica is not here, due to a business trip she is taking to fight a case in London. She'll be back soon.

"Morning, Burr," I state, smiling as I refill the to go mug I had drank on the subway with black coffee.

"Sir," Aaron says, a sly joking manner.

"How are you on this fine day?" I ask.

Aaron shrugs, leaning back. "Fine. Can I ask you some advice? Father to father?"

I raise my eyebrows and let a small chuckle escape my chest, preparing a bit of candor for the man who never asks for help. "You, want me, to help you? To offer you advice? To, how you say, provide knowledge from my ever-growing brain? Why, I don't think I've ever heard such a thing from you, Mr. Burr. What a ridiculous statement. You want my he-"

Burr cuts me off. "Okay! Okay! I get it, this is new, but I need advice."

I lean against the counter and sip my coffee. "Shoot. What is so important?"

"So, Phillip is, like, sort of gay, right?" Burr asks.

"Look, if you're curious about that stuff I'm fine with that but Phillip is sixteen and with all due respect Burr, I don't want you sleeping with my-"

He cuts me off again. "Oh my god! No! I would never sleep with your son! I have a wife who I love very much! I have not ever wanted to sleep with your son!"

I smirk. "Okay, okay. Yeah, he's a pretty gay I think. He's never really come out but like, he doesn't really have to. I mean, it's not like we'd make a big deal out of it or anything."

"Well, I think my daughter Theo, well, I think she's a little gay," Aaron says quietly.

I burst out laughing, tear coming to my eyes and I grip my aching stomach. Finally, though, I calm down, looking back to an unamused Aaron Burr. "Okay, and?"

"Well, like, I don't really know how to tell her that it's okay," he mumbles. "Like, I don't want her to be afraid to be herself."

"Maybe you should let her know that all your friends are gay," I point out. "Like, all of them. You don't have a single straight friend."

"That's not true!" Aaron says. "Theodosia has two work friends, Steve and Linda."

I raise an eyebrow. "But are they your friends?"

Aaron sighs. "Anyway, how do I let my daughter know that I don't care if she's gay or not? Like, I don't want her to feel like she has to hide who she is from us."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Aaron, she has met your gay and lesbian friends. She has seen how you treat us like everyone else. How you take no offense when you're asked if you're gay. Hell, we kissed on New Years as a joke last year and she was there. You have given her every reason to know that she is accepted. Maybe she's not gay, maybe she is. Maybe she's not ready to say anything. That's her choice. You have done everything you can as a parent. Trust me, it'll be fine."

Aaron groans. "Why can't I just be gay? It would be so much simpler."

I nod. "If you pray enough, you can change."

"Hey, Alex," Madison says walking in.

"Waddup, Jemmy James?" I laugh, holding my cup up a bit to greet him.

"You should go home. Like, right now," James states, a serious look on his face. His arms cross over his pudgy stomach and worry streaks his face.

"What? Why?" I ask, creasing my eyebrows. "Washington isn't mad at me, is he? Oh, did John call? Is something wrong?"

"No, just, you need to leave," James states.

"James, you're being ridiculous," I laugh. "It talks a lot more than a five foot four bottom to get me to leave work. Jesus could probably come down and command it and I still wouldn't go before I had too."

"James, what's going on?" Aaron asks, ignoring my banter.

"Monroe, Frederick, they, they-"

He's cut off when the devil himself walks in. James Monroe. Next to him is Frederick, as well as a very guilty looking Thomas Jefferson, whose eyes are wide when he sees me. He glances at Madison quickly, and Madison gives him a look. I'm pretty sure they have a whole conversation without making a sound in the span of ten seconds.

"Well, well, well," Monroe says wickedly. "Who do we have here?"

"Uh, me, Aaron, and James?" I say, confused on why he asked that question when we've all been coworkers for eight years. "What kind of fucking question is that? You think we got a new intern who looks exactly like us?"

"Alex, talk less," Thomas says quietly.

"What the actual fuck is going on?" I ask, looking around. "Did someone die or something? I mean, if so, great, it means something fun to do, but you guys are acting weird."

"Hamilton, would it be an option to speak to you in your office?" Monroe asks me, smiling deviously. "You see, Frederick, Thomas, and I would like to speak to you about an important matter involving your very career."

I laugh. "Oh, this ought to be good. Thomas, how much are they paying you to join their little facade?"

"You should've left," I hear Madison whisper.

I roll my eyes and make my way to my office, the trio following me. This isn't the first time Monroe has tried to get at my job. You see, though I am younger and therefore, have been practicing law for a smaller amount of time, my rank is higher than Monroe's. I get paid more than Monroe. I get the bigger fish to fry. So, it's no surprise that every other week Monroe comes at me with something to try and jeopardize my career. I can't wait to see what he's come up with this time.

"Gentleman, please, hit me with your best shot," I state as I sit down at my desk.

"We have some interesting checks, from your account," Monroe states.

"Almost ten thousand dollars paid in different amounts, to a mister Pierre Hale way back nine years ago," Frederick states.

I almost gasp, but then regain my composure. "Is that what you have?"

"Are you done?" Thomas complains.

Monroe laughs. "You are uniquely situated by virtue of your position-"

Thomas rolls his eyes. "Virtue is not a word I would apply to this situation."

Monroe elbows him lightly and then looks back to me. "To seek financial gain, to stray from your career."

Frederick chimes in. "And evidence suggests you've engaged in speculation."

Monroe tsks, leaning against my desk and picking up one of my pens, one that John lent me on a morning I was late. "An immigrant embezzling our company funds. I can almost see the headline, your career is over. I hope you saved some money for your husband and son. You best go back to where you came from."

I smirk. "Ha! You don't even know what you're asking me to confess!"

"Just, confess," Thomas mumbles. "It's in your best interest."

"You have nothing!" I snap, ignoring Thomas. "I don't have to tell you anything at all," I pause, thinking about what this could mean. "Unless, if I can prove that I never broke the law, do you promise not to tell anyone what I'm about to show you? No one else can be in the room while it happens."

They're quiet.

"Is that a yes?" I ask.

Monroe nods. "Yes."

I go to my filing cabinet and find the neatly made folder titled 'Nathan and Pierre Hale.' I take it out and set it on my desk, then open it and find the exact letter from Pierre Andre that proves me innocent. It's still flat, with slight fold lines from its time spent in an envelope all those years ago. The ink is preserved nicely. I hand it to Monroe and then cross my arms over my chest, clearing my face of all emotion.

"Dear sir," Monroe starts. "I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in a fortunate enough position to put finances into the pocket of people like me, in debt, you see that was my husband who you decided to..."

"What?" Thomas gasps, standing up and looking over the letter. "You cheated on John?"

I clench my jaw. "Nathan, he, he flirted, and escorted me to bed, and when he had me where he wanted, he and Pierre extorted me. I paid them for every time I saw Nathan, a pre-approved fee. I may have wounded my prospects but my papers are organized and true. As you can see, I wrote it all down, every check, and the date of which those checks were written. Check it against your list and see consistency. I never spent a cent that wasn't mine. Yes, I have a reason for shame, but I have not betrayed this company and ruined the Hamilton name. As you can see, I've done nothing to promote legal action, are my answers satisfying you?"

"Good god," Thomas whispers. "You did this more than once?"

I don't answer.

"Gentleman, let's go," Frederick says.

"So?" I urge.

Monroe sighs. "No one will know what we know."

"How do I know you won't use this against me?" I ask.

"Oh, Alexander," Monroe laughs. "Rumors only spread."

"Thomas," I snap. "Stay. I would like to talk to you about something very important, without the others in the room."

Thomas nods and sits down, staring at his hands while Monroe and Frederick leave. For a bit, the room is silent. Just me, staring down Thomas with all the evidence of my infidelity laid out on the desk in from of us. I can see his nails digging into his palms. He doesn't look up, and he definitely is not going to speak first. But, I'll let him sit there and squirm for a few more seconds, just to be cruel.

"Since when are you teaming up with those assholes?" I ask slowly.

"Since doing so secured my career. I wouldn't consider it teaming up, anyway. I would consider it me doing my job," Thomas answers, looking up at me.

I roll my eyes. "I know who you are and what you do."

"They wanted me to look into dirt they found on you," Thomas explains. "I agreed because I honestly didn't think it would lead anywhere. Then, then I found actual proof that you might have been embezzling our company money, and I can't just brush something under the rug like that. I could lose my job for it, and with all the hospital bills, James and I are barely cutting even. I can't lose this source of income. It's not my fault they think you're crooked."

"Yeah, well I wasn't embezzling funds," I state.

Thomas let's out a bitter chuckle and looks around at my office. "Yeah, you were only cheating on your husband of twenty-three years."

I let out a low growl. "I always considered you a friend."

Thomas looks at me. "I don't see why that can't continue."

I throw my hands up, raising my eyebrows. "You teamed up with brainless pricks to try and prove that I was stealing from the company!"

"I tried to prove you innocent and I secured my job while doing so!" He snaps, standing up and slamming his hands on the desk. "You are my friend but my husband has always and will always come before you! I would never let James die because of your faults! I'm sorry but if it meant my James would be healthy again, I would sell you out for anything I could find! I swear your pride will be the death of us all."

"Thomas, there you are!" James says, walking through the door of my office.

"Madison," I greet.

"I hope you realize that people can hear you two," James states, standing there with a stone look on his face. "Alexander, I told you to leave and you didn't listen."

"You didn't tell me your rat husband was about to-"

James cuts me off. "Hold your fucking tongue, Hamilton, because right now, I'm assuming that my husband is holding some information very detrimental to your life, and maybe he's too respectable to tell someone, but I sure as hell am not."

I fall quiet.

"I have fallen ill again, and Thomas is thinking only of his family," James explains. "I should suggest you do the same."

"You don't even know what you're talking about," I growl.

"James, just, leave it. I could've just said no to them. It's fine," Thomas states quietly.

"We're not done," James states.

"Honey," Thomas whispers quietly, slowly pulling James out of the office.

I laugh, sitting back down and watching as Thomas pulls James out of my office and into the hallway. "Madison, if I were you, I'd stick with him."

"You are evil, Hamilton," Madison mumbles. "Pure evil."

"You don't know the half of it," I mumble, placing the letter back in the folder and closing it. My door shuts and I stand up, placing it back in the filing cabinet and staring out over New York City, trying to make sense of what just happened.

It was a hot summer. Phillip was nine and John wanted to spend the summer upstate with Eliza and Maria, who lived there full time. I had so much work to do that summer though, so I stayed home, bidding them adieu and promising I'd visit them. Then, I got to work. The first week was the worst I'd have to say. With no one there to remind me of the time, I didn't sleep much. There was trouble in the air, I could smell it. I was by myself, I was weak, I was awake. I was almost regretting not making my way upstate to be with the husband who I longed for, and the son who I missed. That's when Nathan Hale walked into my life.

He told me he knew I was a man of honor, and that he was sorry to bother me, but he had nowhere to go, and he came to me all alone. He told me his husband had been doing him wrong, cheating on him, beating him, mistreating him, and then his husband was up and gone, and the poor man in front of me didn't have the means to continue. So, I offered him a loan, and I offered to walk him home. I gave him three thousand dollars that I had socked away, his home was a subway ride away, it wasn't too nice. I told him I should probably head home, but he lead me inside, let his legs spread and asked me to keep him company. Then I did something I did something I had never done before. I began to pray.

I begged the Lord to show me how to say no to him because, at this point, I didn't know how to say no to him. He looked so goddamn helpless, laying in the sheets, his hair a mess, and it didn't help that his skin was basically screaming 'hell yes.' How could I say no to that? In my mind, I was halfway out the door, but then his mouth was on mine and I didn't say no. I should've said no.

I wish I could say the first time was the last time, but it was so convenient, it became a way to tack off the days until John came home. Each time I told myself it was the last time. Each time I didn't mean it. Three weeks into this act of sin, I received a letter from a mister Pierre Hale. Just great. He wrote that he knew what was going on, he wrote that I made a mistake. Then he made an offer. He told me I could keep seeing his 'slut husband' as he put it, as long as I agreed to pay. If I didn't, he'd tell my husband.

I was furious. I stored away the letter and I raced to Nathan's home and yelled 'how could you?' In his face, but of course, in tears, he denied it. Half dressed, guilty, a mess, he looked pathetic, he begged me not to go. I accused him of extorting me, of doing this whole thing for money. I was so livid, I almost hit him, but I held back. He begged me to just pay, to not leave him with Pierre. At that moment, I was stuck, yet again, at the crossroads. I knew I should've said no, but then, Nathan persuaded me to say yes with other forms of debate. The next day I started transferring money into Pierre's account.

As soon as John came back, I stopped. Well, a few weeks after John came back, I stopped. He never found out, Phillip never found out. No one knew. I had kept this secret for seven years, and suddenly, three people know. Three whole ass people. I can't believe this. I can't believe I was so sloppy. Why were they even looking back that far? This is unfair, this is slander. I swear if this gets out.

Who am I kidding, it's going to get out. It's inevitable. If it's' going to get out though, then it's going to be on my terms. I will not let Monroe, Frederick, or Jefferson craft me into some kind of monster who cares not for his family. I'll write my way out. I'll overwhelm the people with honesty. This is the eye of the hurricane, this is the only way I can protect my legacy. No one can convince me otherwise. I will not be turned into some doll for those three men to play with. I will not let my husband and son find out from someone else. The only person who has any right to tell the world is me, and goddammit, I'm gonna do it myself. I'll write my way out.

I get home that night and I can barely look my family in the eye. I make up an excuse for a big work project and spend the rest of the night in my office, feverishly writing. It's long, taking almost a thousand words to get to the point. To get to the reason why I'm publishing this. John says goodnight to me about ten, kissing my head and telling me to be in bed by midnight, with him. I only nod and tell him I love him. Then I go back to my work. Midnight passes and I'm still writing. This is my side of things. I will not be made into something else. I will give the public exactly what they want, the truth.

I'm about to hit publish at four am, but then I pause. I stand up and walk to Phillip's room, where he's sleeping quietly, the radio playing and his window open. I lean down and kiss his forehead, then leave. I make my way back into my office, ready to publish this. I'm about to hit the button, but then I hear shuffling from the doorway. I turn to see John.

"Alexander, come back to sleep," he requests softly.

"I have an early meeting at work," I tell him, pretending that I've only recently woken up. I cannot prepare for his reaction, but I can give him fewer reasons to feel upset. I'm sure he'll understand, this is only for political sacrifice. My goal is not to embarrass him, but to clear my name of any wrongdoing.

"It's still dark outside," John informs me.

I stand up and walk over to him, brushing closed a curtain so that the almost green sky is hidden. The sun has barely risen, only providing a bit of light. My lamp provides more and dimly exposes John's face. "I know." I take his hands in mine and kiss his cheek. "I just need to write something down."

A sigh comes from my beautiful husband and he leans his head on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Why do you write like you're running out of time?"

I smile, wrapping my arms around him and kissing his neck. "Shh."

"Come back to bed, that would be enough," John requests, leaning against me a bit, which is probably a bad idea since he is a man of sleek hard muscle and I am a man of Redbull and ramen.

I pause, wondering if what I'm about to say next will even be an option. "I'll come to bed with you early tonight."

"Come back to sleep," he mumbles, a bit more annoyed with me obviously, hugging me a bit tighter and moving his hips against mine, trying to seduce me into self-care.

"This meeting's at dawn," I inform him, lying straight through my teeth and moving my hips backward so I don't even get any ideas.

A long sigh comes from him, and for a little bit, he just stays quiet, leaning his head against my shoulder and holding my hands. Then, he plants a gentle kiss on my cheek and moves some hair from my face. "Well, I'm going back to sleep."

I sigh, holding his hand, kissing it before letting it go and letting him begin to make his way back to our room. "Hey, best of husbands and best of men."

He smiles and then makes his way back to our room. I step back inside my office and stare down at the computer screen. I love my husband, I love my son. That's why I'm doing this. Because I want them to get the truth, and nothing but the truth, from me. I don't want them to be fed lies by a snake like Monroe. I want them to know what happened. So, I click publish. The page refreshes, loading again.

Wait for it, wait for it, wait-

The Hale Pamphlet.


	4. Have you read this?

/Phillip/

I'm having a simply splendid time in calculus playing Subway Surfers on my phone and ignoring the teacher when Peter texts me. From the back of the class, the half-assed teacher can't see me roll my eyes into the back of my head and ignore the notification, then continue working on beating Georges high score, since we play this together. I'm winning too, but then Peter texts me again and I crash into a train. Silently groaning, I click on his text and reply.

Me: What?

The message I get back from him is just a link. I click on it to preview it and I find it's an article published by my dad.

Me: The Hale Pamphlet?

Him: Have you read this?

Me: No, I haven't, and I'm currently trying to beat Georges' high score for Subway Surfers, so with all due respect, please, please, please leave me alone

Him: No, Phillip, you need to read this

Me: Fine

I click on the link and it takes me to the website of the company of which my father works for. The article loads and I begin reading. 'The spirit of Jacobinism, if not entirely a new spirit, has at least been clothed with a more gigantic body and armed with more powerful weapons than it ever before possessed.' What? Why do I need to read about some political movement in France?

Me: Peter, oh my god, why should I read one of my dad's rants on Jacobinism? I get that France is like, kinda your thing but just because I speak the language doesn't mean I give a damn about the government

Him: Dammit, no, read the twenty-third paragraph

Me: Damn, okay

I click on the link again and scroll down, counting the paragraphs until I get to the twenty-third, then I start reading.

'I owe perhaps to my friends an apology for condescending to give a public explanation. A just pride with reluctance stoops to a formal vindication against so despicable a contrivance and is inclined rather oppose to it the uniform evidence of an upright character. This would be my conduct on the present occasion, did not the tale seem to derive a sanction from the names of three men of some weight and consequence in the society: a circumstance, which I trust will excuse me for paying attention to a slander that without this prop, would defeat itself by intrinsic circumstances of absurdity and malice.

The charge against me is a connection with one Pierre Hale for purposes of improper pecuniary speculation. My real crime is an amorous connection with his husband, for a considerable time with his privity and connivance, if not originally brought on by a combination between the man and husband with the design to extort money from me.

This confession is not made without a blush. I cannot be the apologist of any vice because the ardor of passion may have made it mine. I can never cease to condemn myself for the pang, which it may inflict in a bosom eminently entitled to all my gratitude, fidelity and love. But that bosom will approve, that even at so great an expense, I should effectually wipe away a more serious stain from a name, which it cherishes with no less elevation than tenderness. The public too will I trust excuse the confession. The necessity of it to my defense against a more heinous charge could alone have extorted from me so painful an indecorum.'

I stop reading. I stop breathing. Peter sends another text but I don't read it. I grip my desk, digging my nails into the wood as I try to process what I just read. As I try to process the fact that the public can read that. As I try to process the fact that my pop can read that. That my pop will read it and know what my dad did. Oh my god, going home is going to be like walking through the gates of hell covered in honey and sugar.

Knowing that if I stay in class much longer, I'll probably throw up, I get up and leave as quickly and as quietly as I can. The teacher doesn't even notice. I pull a yellow sticky note out of my math book to make it look like I have a hall pass, then run into the boys bathroom, where I throw up. My throat burns and tears for in my eyes as I vomit my breakfast into the toilet. About halfway through I must've started crying because when there's nothing left and my nose is burning from the pure stomach acid that just came out of it, I'm sobbing. I wipe my eyes and take a deep breath, then flush the toilet and step out of the stall. I blow my nose and rinse my mouth out, then start crying again. I slide down the wall and bury my head in my arms, trying to calm myself but only making things worse.

"Phillip?" I hear a voice say.

"Go away, Peter. I'm not in the mood," I mumble.

"You really think I sound like Peter?" The voice says again. I look up to see Georges standing there, a sad look on his face. He approaches me and sits set, placing his arm around me and leaning his head against mine.

"He's a bastard," I mumble.

"Your dad?" Georges ask.

I nod. "Have you read it?"

I feel Georges nod.

"I can't, I can't believe this," I growl. "He fucking lied!" I throw my phone and it hits the floor, most definitely shattering. "He lied to us!"

"Shh, Pip, I know," Georges whispers quietly.

Sobs break my chest as I move to lean into Georges' chest. I grip his shirt and cry. I don't really know why I'm crying. My dad cheated on my pop. It had nothing to do with me. Maybe it's because I remember that summer. I remember my dad coming to visit us for a week and a half, and I remember how he acted. He acted normal. In fact, he had the nerve to be even more romantic towards my pop. He would pick flowers and brain them into my pop hair, which was still long at the time. He would sing and slow dance with my pop late at night after dinner on the dock near the lake house we were staying at. He took the three of us out to get ice cream. He was good for us, as he betrayed us. The man lied for seven whole years. He told me he loved my pop, but does he really? Does he really love me? It's like he didn't even think about the humiliation that I'm going through, that my pop is going through.

"I hate this!" I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut. "Why did he do this? Did he not know how embarrassing this is? How painful this is? I hate him!"

"Phillip, shh, you don't mean that," Georges whispers quietly.

"Oh, but I do," I growl. "I hate him with every fiber in me. Does he know what he's done? Did he not think about us? Did he not stop to ask himself what kind of backlash I would receive? My pop would receive? We were the family that was, like, good! We had no issues, with money, love, anything! And he ruined it! He fucking ruined it!"

"Phillip, baby, do you want to go home? Or to my place?" Georges asks.

I shake my head and take a deep breath, wiping my tears on the sleeve of my worn denim jacket, ignoring the pot smell. "No, no I'm gonna finish the day. I'm not going to let my son of a bitch dad get in the way of my life."

I stand up and then pull Georges up before splashing some cold water on my face and walking out of the bathroom as the bell rings. I go to my next class and stay quiet, keeping my head down and writing to distract myself from anything going on. I go to my next class, then lunch, which I spend alone in the library. Since the schedules change from day to day, I don't have English after lunch, I go straight to the gym, which is the one class I have with Peter. Since September is rearing its ugly head, we're no longer outside on the track, but instead, inside the hot gym, running laps among other things. I don't want to do that today though.

"Hey, Petey," I say, smiling as my fuck buddy walks in.

"Hey, Pip, I got worried about you. You didn't reply. Are you okay?" Peter asks me quietly, placing his hand on my arm.

I laugh, hooking my pointer fingers in the waistline of his jeans. "I'm fine, silly. What do you say with, I dunno, skip and have a little fun? He already took attendance since he marks us here as we the gym into the locker room, so there's no worry about being caught."

"I dunno, Pippy," Peter says, unsure. I can tell that his friends are making provocative movements behind us.

"Aw, come on, Peter," I whine, pulling his hips against me and planting a kiss on his neck. "There's nothing I want more right now than your long, hard, cock pounding deep into me. Doesn't it make you so horny to think about how my moans would sound echoing in a totally empty locker room? You could fuck me over the bathroom counter and watch my face in the mirror. Watch me moan, bite my lip, squeal. Come on, Peter, I have a condom and everything." I begin to rub ever hardening cock through his joggers. "So hard for me, daddy. Don't you want to make me feel good?"

"Fuck, you are irresistible," Peter groans.

"Ight, the rabbits wanna fuck. You guys better get out because, from the way Pip is talking, I'd give it five minutes tops before they're naked!" One of Peter's friends calls out.

"Thanks, Jacky," I say, tilting my head so I can see the half-dressed boy. "Maybe some time you can see what Peter likes so much."

"I ain't gay," Jacky laughs, slipping on his gym shirt.

"Neither was Peter," I smirk, remembering how when I met the Jefferson kid, he was as straight as a ruler and never even wanted kiss a boy, little less fuck one.

"Okay, point taken. Besides, it's not gay if I hit you from behind," Jacky laughs, walking out of the locker room. "Play safe, kids."

I laugh, looking back to Peter. "I like your friends."

Peter bites his lip and he begins undoing my belt. "I like you a lot more."

I plant a kiss on his lips. "Why don't you prove it?"

One fuck fest later I'm slipping my jeans back on as the class comes back in. Jacky laughs at a shirtless Peter, who is still recovering from our two round session. One where he fucked me over the bathroom counter, another where I rode him on the bench. The second time was better I think, but Peter told me he couldn't decide.

"You wearing my man out," Jacky chuckles, changing.

I shrug. "Maybe so. I'm telling you, Jacks, one night with me and I'll change your mind."

A laugh comes from the Asian kid, his bright brown eyes sparkling and his toned chest rising. "I might just take you up on that offer. From what Peter has told me, you're not exactly, well, inexperienced. You have my Snap, and I'm usually free. Just hit me up when you've got an opening in that busy schedule of yours."

I chuckle comes from me and I smack his ass as I walk on by. "Anytime, Jacky."

Growing up mostly gay in New York actually wasn't that bad. I've never really experienced homophobia. That was all kinda left behind in the last generation. People at my school treat being gay the same way they treat being straight. The only thing anyone cares about is who's doing who and why. Doesn't matter if it's two chicks, two dudes, or some weird straight sex, people just wanna know if Kevin cheated on his girlfriend with Max, or if Frances has finally picked between Martha and Anastasie. I kinda like that. Just, no one gives a fuck what your gender is, they just wanna know if you have any shit to talk. It's relaxing.

The bell rings and I head to my locker, getting my backpack so I can head home. I'll probably walk since that's how I usually get home. My house is only about a mile from the school, but Georges or one of my dads usually drive me there. I like the time spent alone after school, though. It's kinda, like, a bit to recharge my battery I guess. Besides, right now, my battery could seriously use some charging, more than usual.

"Hey, Pip," Georges says, smiling as he puts his arm around me.

"Hiya, Georges," I reply, leaning against him.

"You headed home or..." He trails off, not wanting to have me break down right now. Fool, doesn't know how good I am at channeling my emotions into art or sex, and currently, I just channeled all my emotions into riding Peter's dick, so I won't be crying for the next hour at least, just coming down from that euphoric experience.

"Yup. Have to some time. Besides, I gotta try and see if I can patch this shit up before it gets too out of hand. You know, make sure that murder my dad has been wanting doesn't end up being his," I laugh, walking with Georges down the hall to his locker.

"Hey, it's not your job to fix this," he says in a serious tone.

"Whatever, man," I say, laughing still. I know if I stop laughing about this, it'll make things worse, so I just turn it into a funny joke. Something I can laugh at. It's easy when I do that. It's how I handle things.

"I'm serious, Pip," Georges states, pulling his worn messenger bag out of the locker.

"Drop it," I snap quietly, the smile falling from my face.

His eyes widen and all he can do is a nod.

I smile again and begin walking down the hall with him. "I'm thinking of going to the movies this Friday. Do you wanna do that?"

Georges shrugs. "There's a party, and we'd be able to talk more at a party probably. It's my turn to house the sleepover too, so we could smoke weed on the roof, you know?"

I nod. "Sounds like a plan."

We walk through the doors outside, armed with our stuff. I'm ready to bid my friend goodbye, but then I see something. My dad, leaning against his car, parked in front of the school. Did he come to pick me up? No. I don't want to see him right now. What is he doing here? Come to tell the whole school how he lied to our family, brought some other man into our house, then fucked him?

"Is that your..." Georges trails off, obviously as confused as I am.

"I believe it is," I mutter. "At least I'm getting a ride home. Bye, Georges. I'll text you when and if I can. For now, I gotta deal with this douche hole."

"Bye, Pip," Georges mumbles.

I begin walking over to my dad, wondering what I'll say to him. Do I pretend that I haven't even read it and enjoy these last couple of minutes with him before my pop comes home? No. Absolutely not. I will not spare this man my love. He just destroyed our family name. He ruined us. I can't let that slide.

"Pip..." My dad trails off as he realizes the anger that rests on my face.

"Don't call me that," I snap. "What the fuck are you doing here? Better yet, why? Why are you here? You think this will fucking renue you? Like 'oh no, Phillip is probably mad, better pick him up so he forgives me.' You're fucking wrong. Do you even know what you've done? Do you even know what you've caused? How dare you show up at my school like you didn't just rip out my pop's heart like you didn't just rip out mine. Do you have any idea how it felt to know that Peter Jefferson knew you cheated on pop before I did? Do you know what that felt like? Shame. I am humiliated. I am ashamed that I have the same last name as you."

"I never meant for you to feel this," my dad says slowly.

I grit my teeth. "Get in the fucking car."

"Phillip, watch your language," my dad warns.

"Watch your fucking language, you arrogant self-absorbed cock. Get in the fucking car because I know people are looking at us and I've been humiliated enough today!" I exclaim, getting into the passenger side door of our black SUV my dad drives for work. I sit there steaming while my dad gets in on the other side. He starts the car and begins driving home. I want to yell at him, but I also want to ignore him and never talk to him again.

When we get home we both sit in the car for a second. Usually, he can't pick me up from school, but he does pick me up from other things. The drive is usually filled with music, but when we get home, he'll turn the car off and we'll sit there for a bit. These are the times when we tell each other things. I told my dad I was feeling depressed in middle school right in this very seat. I learned that I am biologically John's child right here. It almost feels wrong, but I get out. My dad follows me as I storm inside, ready to go upstairs and blast music until my eardrums bleed and I never have to listen to anyone ever again.

"Phillip, wait," my dad calls, grabbing my wrist before I reach the steps.

I rip my hand away. "How dare you! How dare you touch me with the same hands you touched him with? How dare you kiss my father with the same lips you kissed some, some, some cheap whore with! How dare you speak when your words have broken my heart! How dare you ask me to wait for you! You have no right to talk to me!"

"Phillip," my dad whispers.

I push him back, away from me. "You have invented a new kind of stupid! A damage you can never fix kind of stupid! A let out all the animals at the zoo kind of stupid! A clearly, you didn't think this through, kind of stupid."

"Don't talk to me like that, I am your father and you will show me respect," my dad snaps, glaring at me.

I laugh. "Respect? Do you want fucking respect? Like the respect you showed my pop when you published this? The respect you showed Nathan Hale when you published this? Let's review, you took a rumor that three people knew, and then shared an affair with the entire world that no one had even accused you of. You're so fucking scared of what your workplace rivals will do to you, but Jesus, you're the only enemy you ever seem to lose to! You know why Monroe can say whatever he wishes? He doesn't justify schoolyard teases with a fucking response! So yeah, congratulations. You've redefined the Hamilton name. Congratulations!"

"It was an act of political sacrifice!" My dad snaps.

"Sacrifice?" My voice cracks. "I grew up with two dads who I thought loved each other and only each other. I lived for the love we shared. I'm looking back and wondering what pop and I did that made us not enough for you. That doesn't wipe my tears, or all these memories away, and I'm not leaving this house or this family. You know why?"

"Phillip," my dad whispers.

"I'm not staying for you," I tell him. "I know my pop like I know the back of my hand. I have never met anyone as trusting or as kind! And, when I was a kid, he would smile at you and mumble 'that one's mine.'"

My dad lets a small sob escape his chest.

"I was happy, and I wanted to be with my family. Do you know why? I love my father! The man who never cheated on his family! Who never lied! I will try to secure his happiness over yours no matter what! Johnathan is the best thing in your life! So never lose sight of the fact that you have been blessed with the best husband!" I push the hair out of my face. "Congratulations! For the rest of your life, every sacrifice you make is for this family, you will provide us with the best life. Congratulations."

I'm about to walk upstairs, but then I hear a strangled sob come from my dad. I turn around and see him on his knees, clutching his chest. Tears are falling down his cheeks. His hair is sticking to his face. He looks a mess.

"I'm so sorry," he cries.

"Why did you do it? What was going through your mind?" I ask, taking a step closer to him. "Did you even think?"

My dad looks up at me. "I cannot emphasize how little I was thinking."

I sigh. "You have a lot of apologizing to do. Not just to me, but to John. Do you know what you've probably done to him? What he's feeling?"

My dad shakes his head. "I had no right to do this."

"Did you love him? Did you love Nathan?" I ask quietly.

My dad shakes his head. "No. I didn't. I just, I have no excuse. Absolutely no excuse. I shouldn't have done this to our family. To you, to John, to anyone. Today, at work, Lafayette was so mad at me. He wouldn't even talk to me. And Madison? Oof, the man may be small, but he can yell. For some reason, I thought the infidelity would be mostly overlooked since at least I was being honest with the money. It, it was not."

"You deserve the backlash," I state bluntly.

"I know," my dad tells me.

"Pop is gonna be home any minute," I say.

My dad nods.

"He's gonna be pissed," I inform him.

He nods again.

"Do we have any leftovers?" I ask quietly.

My dad moves so he's sitting on the floor, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, we should. Pizza."

I nod, then pull out the leftover vegan oatmeal pancakes pop made for breakfast. "Pop made too much breakfast. I'm guessing we're probably going to be having take out?"

My dad shrugs. "If we don't order anything, just order yourself some dinner. I'll pay you back."

"No twenty dollar limit?" I ask, smirking almost.

An eye roll comes from him. "Not tonight. Just, try to keep it under a hundred." He stands up and runs his hand over his face. "I'm sorry."

I nod, putting a pancake on a plate. "I know. I'm not going to be able to forgive for this for a while, and I definitely won't be able to trust you. Honestly though? I'm not the one you should be worrying about. You cheated on the man you've known and most likely loved since you were twelve. That's thirty-seven years. Thirty-seven damn years, basically thrown away in the span of a summer and a day. This was really stupid. Like, this is one of the stupidest things you've ever done."

My dad nods. "You know I love you, right kid?"

I nod. "I love you too, dad. I'm just, I'm really hurt right now."

My dad opens his mouth to say something, but then something flies past his head and hits the fridge, sending glass shards scattering across the floor, trapping my barefooted self in the area. Upon closer examination, I realize it's a phone. The case proves it to be my pop since it's a clear case with a polaroid of the three of us in it.

"You son of a bitch!" My pop yells, his eyes filled with tears. "You fucking bastard! How could you? What the fuck were you thinking? You're a real piece of shit!"

"John, Pip is here," my dad says quietly.

"You certainly didn't seem to care if Pip would see what you wrote!" My pop yells back, storming to my dad. "You think this is funny? You think this is some kind of joke? This is my life! This is going to be following me around for the rest of my life! You too! Phillip too!"

I've never heard my pop yell like this. It's honestly scary. I feel myself shaking as I lower myself to the phone on the floor. I carefully remove the case and take out the polaroid, fearing that my pop might do something to destroy a reminder that we were once a happy family. I slip it into my pocket and then set the phone on the counter. Glass is covering the floor, and my feet are bound to get cut up if I try to walk across it, so I really only have two options. Walk across the glass and spend the rest of the night picking the shards out of my feet while my parents fight, or stand here until when of them gets the broom from the closet.

"John, please, stop yelling," my dad requests.

"Stop yelling?" My pop laughs. "Are you really telling me to censor myself? To not be so loud about my emotions? Aren't you the guy who self-published his own sex scandal?"

"Listen, I just think that we should-"

My pop cuts my dad off. "We should what? Sit down and talk about it? This isn't some bullshit communication issue! You slept with another man! In our own fucking house! Then you lied! You lied for so many years! I don't know who you are! I didn't marry you!"

My dad shoots me an apologetic look. I just close my eyes and dig my nails into my palms. My appetite is gone, and the only thing I really want to do is go upstairs and drown out the yelling, but I can't. I am literally trapped here. I can only listen as my pop lets loose the worst abuses I've ever heard him say. I've never really seen him lose his temper like this. I know he's struggled with anger issues, but, I just, I've never seen him so angry. He has a right to be this mad, but can't he at least let me leave? I don't want to be here. I don't want to experience the downfall of my parents with them. I want to be upstairs, listening to music.

"Where are you going?" My pop snaps.

I open my eyes to see my dad making his way to the closet where the broom is. I can tell he's shaking a bit from how his hand freezes in mid-reach but doesn't stay still. It just hangs in the air, trembling. My pop looks furious, my dad looks scared. A lump is formed tight in my throat and my vision is beginning to get blurry from the tears that are forming in my eyes.

"When you threw your phone," my dad starts slowly, pulling the broom out of the closet and turning to me so he can sweep me a passage, "the glass shattered on the kitchen floor. Our son has no shoes on and he can't get out of the kitchen without hurting his feet."

"You say 'our son' as if you had anything to do with him. He's my son, Alex," my pop taunts, a cruel look on my face.

My dad freezes, his eyes wide, tears welling up in them. "I just, I don't want him to get hurt, and I don't want to fight in front of him. He doesn't deserve this."

"Oh but he deserves to find out you cheated on me from an online article?" My pop spits, crossing his arms and scrunching his nose in disgust.

My dad doesn't say anything, just begins sweeping the glass out of my way. He's gripping the broom tightly, his knuckles turning white as he moves the glass. I'm staring at the floor, my eye twitching.

"What? What's wrong, Alex?" My pop says, ferocity lacing his voice. "Can't stand to answer because you know I'm right? You know that for once in your goddamn life, you are absolutely and entirely wrong?"

"Phillip, go," my dad commands harshly, clenching his jaw.

I can't move. I'm frozen. Staring at the floor. I want to vomit.

"Phillip, please," my dad begs.

I look up, then waste not another second sliding past him and running up the stairs. I stop on the third floor, heading into the bathroom and turning on the shower. I strip down and step under the boiling water, then begin crying. My chest hurts so bad that I end up sitting down on the shower floor and crying. I end up vomiting again, well, the first heave was a good hearty mouthful of stomach acid, as well as a solid stream of the liquid coming out my nose. The next five to seven heavens were dry and painful, leaving me coughing and crying, choking as I try to get my hair out of my face and gain awareness of my surroundings. After about half an hour, I finally gain the courage to turn off the shower and make my way up to my room.

Even with a whole floor separating us, I can still hear my pop yelling, and then a faint mumbling of my dad talking back. I wrap a towel around myself and grab my clothes, then make it all the way upstairs to my room. Thankfully, my pop voice is only a faint buzzing, easy to be tuned out by a simple call to a friend, so I grab my headphones and pull out my laptop. I find Georges contact and click the call button, then wait. A few rings, and then he picks up. I can tell he's in his living room from the background, which is a bright yellow wall with a French flag on it.

"Hey, Pip," Georges says softly. "What's going on?"

"Oof, I should've just gone home with you," I groan, leaning back on my bed a bit. "Shit's fucked. Shit's so fucked."

"What happened?" Georges asks.

I groan quietly. "Well, my dad apologized. I yelled at him a little bit."

Georges raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, I yelled at him a lot." I push my hand through my hair. "I told him that I wouldn't be able to forgive him or trust him for a while and that he's going to have to do a lot to get that back. He was very humble about it and agreed that he deserved the backlash, and did not handle the situation very well at all. Don't get me wrong, I'm furious with him. I feel betrayed, hurt, sad. I don't plan on letting this go. Just, at least he was calm about it. He didn't yell. I mean, he didn't really have reason to, but, he just, he accepted that he was wrong, and was willing to talk about it. Then, then my pop came home."

"Shit, what happened?" Georges asks quietly.

"Well, my pop almost took my dads head off when he chucked his phone at him. I was in the kitchen and the phone hit the fridge, then shattered, so I was kinda trapped since I didn't have any shoes on." I laugh a bit. "Uh, my pop instantly started yelling at my dad, and my dad just got really quiet. Then my pop brought up how I wasn't even his kid biologically, which hurt me too. After that, my dad got a broom and swept away the glass so I could leave. They're still fighting, which means they have been for at least forty five minutes."

"Shit," Georges mumbles. "Do you want me to come to pick you up?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't want shit to get too out of hand. They wouldn't do anything terrible while I'm in the house, right?"

"Pip, it's not your job to fix them," Georges tells me softly.

I shrug. "I just, I don't want my pop relapsing on alcohol, and I don't want my dad to stay up all night working. You know? I want to make sure they're okay. When they can't be the parents, I can."

"That's not your job, though," Georges points out. "You're sixteen. Sixteen, Phillip. It's not your job to be responsible for your parents. You deserve to be comfortable."

I roll my eyes. "I'm fine. I mean, they've fought before."

"Yeah, everyone fights. My dads fight, but they've never done it in front of me, they've never yelled, and they've never cursed. Phillip, you are three floors above them and I can hear their voices. I really think we should pick you up." Georges runs his hand over his chin gently. "Please? My dads already said it's okay."

I shake my head. "I really, I know you're dads are mad at my dad, and I don't want to be around that right now. Herc can hold his tongue, but you know Laf can't, and I am fluent in both languages Laf yells in, so..."

"How about Washington?" I hear a voice ask.

"Are your dads listening to our conversation?" I ask.

Georges nods. "What about Washington? He's not gonna say anything because you know the man has a stone for an emotion. Just, let your dads have the house to themselves for the night. Seriously, you need to sleep somewhere pleasant tonight."

"I've already called Washington, he says he's on his way," I hear Laf say. He sits down next to Georges, coming into view. "Hey, Pip, I'm sorry this is going on. Are you okay? Is anything happening?"

I shrug. "They're fighting. They've been fighting for a while. At least an hour, now. My dad picked me up from school and he apologized. I yelled at him, and I'm still really mad. Just, at least he didn't start yelling at my pop while I was in the room. My pop, he just, he started yelling and I was trapped in the kitchen and I couldn't leave until my dad got a broom and swept up the glass from the phone my pop threw at him."

"I'm sorry. You should pack an overnight bag for when Washington comes and picks you up. He said he'd be there in about ten minutes," Lafayette tells me. "Have you had dinner?"

I shake my head. "I'm not really hungry. I threw up a bit ago, which is why my cheeks are puffy. My throat hurts a lot."

"Martha is gonna make you some chicken noodle soup, to help your throat, most likely," Lafayette tells me kindly.

I shrug. "I'm vegan, so I couldn't eat it anyway."

"She has blueberry sorbet too, and she'll steam up some vegetables if you ask," Lafayette tells me. "If you ever need a place to stay, you can come here. We'll be happy to house you. Jefferson and Madison will be happy to take you in as well, and you always have Washington. We have your back when your fathers can't. We love you, Pip."

I smile. "I love you guys too. I should probably sign off and get packed. I'll ask G Wash to text me when he's here. Thanks."

Laf nods. "We got you. Bye Pip."

"Bye," I mumble. "Bye Georges, kiss kiss. Give Hercules my love."

"Bye, Anna sun," Georges laughs. I hang up and then begin moving around my room, getting on a pair of basketball shorts so I'm not walking around Washington's house with no pants on. I grab a pair of black ripped jeans and a beat up Freddy Krueger sweater I found in the discount bin for an outfit tomorrow, as well as some clean socks and underwear. I can manage to fit this all in my backpack, which didn't really have much in it in the first place. I then slip my laptop and chargers in it, humming music so I can't hear the faint buzzing of my pop's screaming. I grab some socks to put on now, then quietly sneak into the third-floor bathroom to grab my toothbrush and hairbrush. I'm glad to be packed, and I'm glad that Washington texts and tells me he's right around the corner. I grab my bag and sneak downstairs until I get to the top of the steps that lead into the kitchen where my parents are arguing. I sit there, listening.

"Do you even know what you've done to this family?" My pop yells.

"John! Please stop yelling! I get that you're angry but we have our child upstairs! Why are you being so irrational about this?" My dad shoots back.

"I'm being irrational? I'm being irrational? Last time I checked, I was not the one who published his own sex scandal for the public!" My pop points out.

"We are just going around in circles, John! You yelling is not going to change anything right now! We need to be adults about this," my dad negotiates, his voice quieter than my pop's.

"Are you seriously-"

My pop gets cut off by a knock at the door. A few footsteps are heard, and then the door opens. I stand up, knowing it's probably Washington here to pick me up. Or, at least I hope it is. They've been yelling pretty loud and it could be a neighbor, but I don't think they can hear us. If we can all sing Africa by Toto at the top of our lungs without a noise complaint, then they can argue all they want.

"I'm here to pick up Phillip," I hear Washington's voice say.

I clamp down the stairs into the living room, grabbing my beanie off of a hook and slipping it on my head. Both my parents look at me, all packed up, with puffy cheeks and a red nose. I bite my lip as I slip past my dad and put on my shoes.

"Phillip, you can't just leave," my pop intervenes. "We had no former knowledge of this."

Washington raises his eyebrows, staring my pop dead in the eye. "If you truly want to force your child to stay in an environment that is making them uncomfortable, then I feel sorry for you. I know exactly what happened, and I also know that it's between you and your husband. Your son has nothing to do with this, and I will not leave unless he is with me, because I don't believe that children should be exposed to their parents fighting like you both are. I know for a fact that Phillip could hear you from his room, and I know for a fact that fighting parents lead to unfair situations for their children. So, with all due respect, Johnathan, Phillip can and will leave."

My pop stands there, almost shocked as I walk past him and out the door. I don't say goodbye, though I do spare a glance back to them. My pop almost looks angry, while my dad just nods, his lips pushed down into a frown. I look forward again and head to the passenger seat of Washington's black BMW. I get in and set my bag at my feet, then buckle my seat belt and lean back, sighing. Washington gets into the driver's side and starts the car.

"Are you okay?" He asks me gently.

I groan. "Why do I feel like that's gonna be the only question people ask me for a while?"

"Because we care about you," Washington answers, turning on the radio but keeping it low so we can still talk. "Are you?"

I shrug. "I dunno. I'm just kinda trying to distract myself from the inevitable."

"Which is?" Washington urges, stopping at a stoplight.

"Come on," I laugh bitterly. "Have you ever known a couple to stay together after one cheats on the other? My dad can be his own divorce lawyer."

"Don't think like that," Washington tells me.

I shrug. "I don't want them fighting to be the rest of my home life."

"John's a reasonable person, and this did happen a long time ago. The pain of this is still really raw, but as time passes, things will settle down. I'm not trying to defend Alex's actions, because nothing his did was right, but I am saying that as long as they uphold the maturity I've seen in them since college, then they will be fine." Washington pulls onto his street, which is lined with houses much nicer than the brownstone I live in. "Are you mad at Alex?"

I nod. "Furious. He lied, he, he cheated, he broke my heart. I didn't throw my phone at him at least."

"John did that?" Washington asks, his brows furrowing.

I nod. "The glass trapped me in the kitchen while they fought. My dad thankfully got a broom and swept it up so I could leave while my pop yelled. It was, well, it was pretty messy. They fought from the time my pop got home to now, and will probably continue on for a little while."

"I'm sorry, Pip. I'm sorry you had to go through that," Washington says.

I shrug. "Paciencia y fe."


	5. Phillip is going to break his hand if one more person asks him if he's okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because Phillip is the main character doesn't mean that all his actions are morally correct. I don't want you to think I'm promoting some of the stuff he does, because I'm not. He's a flawed person, just like John, just like Alex.

/Phillip/

Wednesday morning I walk into school with bags under my eyes and my hair up in a messy bun. My stomach is thankfully full due to Martha's splendid cooking. She made me oatmeal, vegan, and put some nutritional yeast in it, which tastes like cheese but is vegan and rich in B12 I guess. It was very good, and since I couldn't even force myself to eat dinner last night, having a full stomach right now really helps. I couldn't really sleep last night, so I ended up watching Vine compilation after Vine compilation until I had seen them all at least twenty times. I'm on my third cup of coffee and it's only seven.

"Morning, Pip," my English teacher, Mr. King, says.

"Salutations man with a degree working in a corrupt system setting kids up for failure," I smile as I put my bag in my locker.

Mr. King groans. "Don't remind me. I could've been a cold-hearted doctor and still be in college right now, doing keg stands and crying into my ramen. Instead, I had to sympathize with children and try to make their lives better."

"Lighten up, we could get nuked," I point out.

He nods. "Yes, we could. How's your essay coming?"

I shrug. "I was thinking of putting it on a little cart and then stealing my godfathers Yorkie to pull it in and present it to you. How does that sound?"

Mr. King laughs. "I saw you around the halls yesterday, you were looking pretty bummed. Is everything okay?"

I roll my eyes. "For the drama teacher, you sure are a bad liar. Did you seriously not read it? Someone as into political issues as you?"

Mr. King looks down, then back up at me. "Yeah, I saw it. I recognized your last name, and it was on a couple of sites. Are you okay?"

I shrug. "Spent the night at Georges' grandfather's house. My dads were fighting, so, I just, I didn't really want to be there."

"If you ever need to stay somewhere after school for a bit, kill time, you can hang out in my classroom, or if you need to be alone I can open up the theatre hall. Backstage is a pretty nice place to go when you need to relax," Mr. King says.

I nod. "Thank you."

"Have a good day, Phillip," he tells me. "I'll see you in English."

Mr. King is a very good teacher. He runs the drama program and teaches English. He's only been here for a couple of years, so he's still relatively young, and he's just a pleasant person to be around. Despite him being very white, most of the black kids and non-white kids are usually eating lunch in his classroom, or not giving him as hard a time as they give other teachers. We all know that he's a fierce black lives matter protester and many rumors are going around that he's dating a man named Louis who works at the college. Mr. King is just a genuinely nice teacher.

"Hey, Pip," I hear Theo's voice say. Her locker is near mine so we are often hanging out at the beginning of school.

"Morning, Theo," I reply, smiling at her. "How are you this morning?"

She shrugs. "I should be asking you that."

The sound of my head hitting my locker with the force of a thousand men echoes through the hall, and I get a few looks from some passing kids. "If one more person asks me that, I'm going to slam my hand into a door and break my fingers so I can go to the hospital and eat chocolate pudding."

"Pip!" I hear William's voice call out. "Are you okay?"

I move to the choir room door which is across, sticking out my hand, but am promptly grabbed my Theo so I can't do much except try not to suffocate in her tits. At least the barely dress code sweater is soft. It's low cut enough to show most of her boobs and then just barely gracing the waistline of her pants. I know Aaron didn't let her leave the house like that, so I'm betting there's a cover-up sweater in her locker that she'll be slipping on before she heads home.

"As much as I enjoy partaking in unjustified self-destruction, you need your hands so you can write your way out of whatever shitty situation you're in," Theo jokes, smiling at me.

I let an eye roll slip from me as I look to William. "I'm fine. Sorry, I couldn't make it yesterday, some shit went down. You wanna slip into your car at lunch? Or should we wait until after school and just do it at your place?"

William bites his lip. "Are you sure? You don't owe me anything."

I nod. "Please, casual fuckings are the only thing I have to look forward to in the next couple of months. Well, that and Halloween."

"I mean, I guess. I'll see you later, Pip. We can go back to my place, it'll be more comfortable for both of us," William says.

I nod and William leaves. I perk back up though when I hear Theo sigh. "What?"

"You ever think you use sex as a coping mechanism?" She asks me.

I snort. "Yes. I do. It's how I bury half the emotions I have. How do you think I've avoided getting crushes? It's certainly not by jerking off and moaning anyone's name at night. I got two guys who are just repeeling enough to keep me from catching feelings for them, and then another thousand guys who are at my beck and call. Sex is, in all forms for me, only a coping mechanism. Catch me getting dick at a funeral."

"That's probably not very good for you," she points out as we begin our walk to Georges locker, which he should be arriving at in two minutes.

A laugh comes from my chest as I lean against her a bit. "Probably not. What can I say? I'm a Hamilton. I'll sleep with anyone I can, regardless of the consequences."

"Phillip, you're gonna get yourself into actual trouble one day, and when you get in my car at three in the morning, naked and covered in hickeys, I'm going to throw french fries at you and tell you I told you so," Theo states.

I roll my eyes as we approach Georges untouched still locker, then lean against it. "Nothing would make me happier, dear."

"Okay I got a real shit question for you," Theo says as she begins tying her hair up in space buns, her shirt coming up to expose her stomach, laced with gentle stretchmarks and the vitiligo that stretches from her upper thigh all the way to her chest. It stops down the middle of her torso, so half her stomach is her sweet cocoa colored skin, while the other half is pale and untouched. The rocky and uneven border between the two is almost ever-changing, but she's never been ashamed of it. She is the free black female form, and she's willing to fight anyone who dares talk any lower of her.

"Shoot," I state.

"You and Georges. I know you guys have kissed, but do you ever want to like, I dunno, go farther on an emotional level?" She asks me, adjusting one of her buns.

I shrug. "I don't see any reason to. We're fine just the way we are. Why?"

She shrugs. "I just, I would think that at this point something more would've happened between you and him. I know you're pretty strictly non-monogamous when it comes to your lovers, but like, I dunno."

I roll my eyes. "Aren't you the one who asked me why I put up with his shit barely a week ago?"

Theo shrugs. "Maybe so. You know I'm always into my favorite wet gay, though."

I raise an eyebrow. "Okay, what about you and Franny?"

She smirks and wiggles her eyebrows. "What about Franny and I?"

"You two seem pretty gay," I point out.

She snorts, laughing a bit. "That's because we are, dumbass. We've been dating for like, three weeks. Did I seriously not tell you?"

"No!" I exclaim.

"Morning guys," Georges mumbles, approaching us.

"Theo is dating Franny!" I yell loudly.

Georges looks at me and nods slowly. "Yeah, for like, three weeks. She told us like, the first day it happened."

"Are you sure I was there?" I ask. "Like, think real hard because I know my memory is absolute shit, but, like, I'm positive I would've remembered something like this. Like, this is something I put energy into. Seriously, Theo, are you sure I was there?"

She laughs. "No, I don't think you were, actually. I remember, I told Georges in the morning and you had shown up late that morning because you wanted coffee and your pops had the day off so he let you skip the first period and drink coffee with him."

I nod. "Thank you. Damn though, so y'all are dating?"

She nods. "Yeah. It's pretty great. My dad doesn't know we're dating, but I think he's onto us, or at least me."

"Why?" Georges asks as he opens his locker to put his stuff away.

"Well, I had to use his laptop because mine was getting fixed after I threw it off my bed when I was watching a scary movie, and I went to search up 'how to cut a mango' but the first thing that came up, in purple so I know he had searched it, was 'how to tell my kid it's okay to be gay' so I guess he caught on," Theo explains.

"Oh yeah, you have to like, come out to straight parents. With gay parents, it's kinda just, like casual," Georges states.

Theo laughs. "I did it casually too. I think he's just dense because I make gay jokes all the time, I can't sit, do the math, or drive, and whenever I see Ebony Haith, my favorite model, I start crying from all the beauty, so, I don't know. I just can't believe he thinks he's not been like, obviously okay with gay people in front of me. He kissed your dad, Phillip, and like, all his friends are gay. Last Thanksgiving looked like the reunion of Queer Eye or something."

"Yeah, we're all pretty gay." I laugh, and then suddenly a bit of a sob builds up in my throat and chest. I don't know why, but I guess thinking and talking about my dads reminded me of all the shit that's really going on right now. I swallow thickly and close my eyes.

Georges pulls me into his arms quickly and then continues talking. "Theo, how's your history project going?"

"Pip, are you good?" She asks me softly.

I nod against Georges' chest. I know if I talk I'll start crying, so I just gently trace shapes into Georges' back and focus on my breathing. I can tell the hall is starting to fill up as the minutes until class slip away.

"Hey, I'm gonna walk him to his class," Georges states.

"Okay," Theo replies.

"Come on, Pippy," Georges whispers. "Let's get you to your class."

He takes my hand and begins leading me through the hallway of people. I keep my head down but can tell I'm getting a few stares from people. Georges squeezes my hand gently as we make our way to my first class, a bleak and pointless history lesson on whatever era is deemed important by our teacher. I really don't want to be here, but I might as well. Afterall, I still have my perfect attendance record to uphold. So, if that means holding back breakdowns throughout the day, then so be it.

"Oof, I gotta fuck someone before the day is out," I mumble.

"Why?" Georges asks.

"So I don't have a fucking breakdown," I laugh, taking a deep shaky breath. "And before you ask, yes, I'm using sex as a coping mechanism. I already went over this with Theo."

"That's probably really bad for you," Georges tells me sadly.

I nod. "Oh Georges, you're the only good man left."

At lunch, I walk off campus with Georges and Theo to the nearby corner store to get some food and coffee. Theo gets some chips and beef jerky, Georges gets a bottled iced coffee, a granola bar, and some Cheetos, and I get black coffee and a box of condoms. I really don't feel hungry, my stomach too filled with anxiety to put anything in it but coffee and come, which I'm praying happens in gym class.

"Aren't you gonna get food?" Theo asks me.

I shrug as I hand the cashier my money and place the condoms in my bag, then take a sip of my coffee. "Not really hungry. I just, I still feel a little anxious and what not about everything that's going on. I had breakfast, and I'll eat dinner, I promise. For now, though, the only thing I wanna focus on is seducing a straight boy."

"Which one?" Theo laughs as she begins paying for her stuff.

"Jacky, Peter's friend. Football team, honor roll, Asian," I state, showing her a picture that Jacky had posted on his Snap earlier today.

"Ooh, him, he's cute," Theo comments.

"How exactly are you gonna seduce him?" Georges asks as he begins to pay for his stuff. "He's been pretty straight all throughout his life."

"I told him not to knock it until he tried it," I stated. "So, I'm gonna have a little fun in gym class with him. Then I have Wiliam after school." I begin walking out of the store with them. "Theo, Georges, I'm also headed over to Eaker's to pick up my weekly order of pot. If you guys want any papers or a pipe or something, let me know by the end of the day and give me some money."

"Oh, I need papers. Eaker still only charges five dollars for a whole pack, right?" Theo asks, digging around in her purse as she searches for her money.

I nod. "Yeah. You need any pot or anything?"

She shakes her head, handing me five dollars. "Nah, Franny has a cousin who owns a pot shop so he'll always give stuff to her. Thanks though."

"Georges, you need anything?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Nah, you know I have enough of everything."

I smile as we make it back onto campus. "Okay, cool."

"Hey, Pip!" I hear a voice call.

I look over to see Jacky calling me over, so I tell Theo and Georges I'll be one second, then make my way over to Jacky, smiling a bit as I watch the boy eye me up and down. I place myself on his lap, earning whistles from his friends. "Hey Jacky, what do you need?"

"I want to take you up on your offer during gym, eh?" He mumbles, his voice low and husky as he gently presses a small kiss to my neck. "You got condoms?"

I nod. "Just bought 'em. I'll see you in gym, Jacky."

"Bye, Pip," he smiles. I wave flirtily to the other boys who are making vulgar motions at Jacky, then skip back to Theo and Georges. Georges looks unamused while Theo is giving me a playful smirk, pursing her lips.

"Did we succeed in converting a straight?" She asks.

I shrug. "He might knock it after he tries it, but at least he'll try it."

"Go him," Georges mumbles.

I chose to ignore his tone. "What time is it? How much longer until lunch ends?"

Theo pulls out her phone. "We've got, like, ten minutes. Should we go to the library? I heard they were giving out free books, and I think we could find some cool stuff."

I nod. "Yeah, I'm running low on collaging stuff, so I need some more. Besides, I think it would be nice to find some new poetry books or something."

"Have you ever read a play?" Theo asks me.

I shake my head. "No, have you?"

She nods. "Yeah. I think you might like it. Like, you know, a modern play or something. Let's keep an eye out."

We head into the library and sign in, then let Theo guide us into a back room. Books are stacked from ceiling to floor, all old with red stickers saying 'give away.' I let out a small sigh and head straight over to the art books, then the history books since those always have the coolest pictures. Since I can't take a lot right now, I decide to limit myself to three books. So, in ten minutes, I pick a book about black history, a book about the Mexican war, and a book about art. Theo has several small books about playwrights, and Georges has found one about music.

"Pip, take this," she says, handing me a blue fabric covered book that looks older than me. It's faded, and the cover is hard to read, but I can see it.

"Restoration plays," I mumble slowly.

"It's a bunch of small plays. I flipped through it, it looks really good. Plays are good to read when you're emotionally exhausted because they don't have a lot of thoughts or describing words, just the dialogue. I think you might like it," Theo explains.

I open it and begin flipping through, running my fingers over the small text on the thin paper. "Okay, I'll bite. I'll tell you what I think about it."

The bell rings and we all separate to go get our things. I head to my locker and drop off the three big books, then pull out my English notebook and tuck the little playbook under my arm. I make my way to Mr. King's class and sit down in my desk. Georges isn't here yet, so I wait for him while reading the plays. Theo was right, it does not take a lot of energy to read them, and it sort of lulled me into a dull subconscious where the only thing I was focusing on was the words and the feel of the paper between my fingers.

"Hey, Pip," Georges says as he sits down next to me, breaking me out of my trance.

"Oh, hey, Georges," I mumble, sitting back and closing my eyes a bit.

"Are you busy after school?" He asks me.

I nod. "Yeah, I'm headed over to William's, then home. Did you want to do something?"

Georges shrugs. "No, not really."

I nod. "Okay."

The bell cuts me off and we look at the front of the classroom as Mr. King starts teaching. English goes by and soon enough I'm in the gym locker room with Jacky, waiting for everyone else to clear out so we could have the place to ourselves. Peter gave Jacky a thumbs up as he left, and soon enough, it's just me and the older boy. He stands up, taking a handful of my hair and forcing me onto my knees.

"Mm, you like it rough?" I ask as I begin to rub him through his jeans.

"Why don't you find out yourself, hm?" He replies.

I laugh as I began unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down. He is smaller than most of the people I've been with, but that's okay, and besides, it's not a bad dick. So, I get to work making it nice and wet. Since I've never gone more than a week without sex, prepping is never needed, so when I finish sucking him off and roll on condom onto him, I know I'll just be able to slide right on, which I do. I gotta admit, it's not bad sex either. He's rough, pulling my hair and biting my shoulder, leaving deep marks that will remain there for a while.

"Wow," Jack comments as he slides out of me after finishing.

I laugh, standing up from where he had me bent over the bench. "Peter wouldn't keep coming back if I wasn't good. So, mister 'I ain't gay,' you still only playing for one team?"

Jack shrugs. "If I hit you up, will you come through?"

I nod, walking into the shower area so I can wash the sex off of me. "Yeah. If you hit me up late at night you're gonna have to pick me up, but I'm usually free after school or, well, you know, right now."

I turn on the shower and rinse myself off. I don't use soap or anything because I don't have any, but it's nice to know that I won't be covered in the smell of sex for the rest of the day. Besides, I'll get a better shower at William's. He always lets me shower.

William lives in an apartment with another roommate, George Eaker, my drug dealer, who is often referred to as Eaker. William had been living without his parents until he was sixteen and then left home due to an abusive situation. Eaker, who was three years older than him, let William live with him. Of course, William pays a little under half the rent with a job he has at a restaurant, but since Eaker is a drug dealer, he pulls in enough bank to where he can pay for everything else. Eaker is actually really nice, and so I do often spend a lot of time hanging out with him while I'm at William's. He's pretty casual when it comes to William and me fucking. One time, the two of us were in the shower and he was pounding into me like there's no tomorrow, and Eaker sort of walked in and announced he needed to pee, told a joke while he was peeing, then left. It's nice to have him be so casual about Will and I. I never liked it when people made a big deal out of anything, so being around Eaker just gives me a calming sense.

"How was school?" William asks as he hands me the only helmet he owns. He rides an old motorcycle that he and Eaker bought together. They also have a car, which is the one William used on Saturday to pick me up from my house.

"It was fine," I mumble as I slip onto the back wrapping my arms around Will's torso. "Can I shower at your place? I don't want to go home smelling like sex."

"Yeah, sure," William responds. He kicks off and begins driving, making me jump a little bit. I hold onto his torso tightly and close my eyes, taking deep breaths and listening to the rumbling of the engine. I know William is usually pretty reckless on a motorcycle, but he knows that unsafe driving gives me anxiety, so he always stays safe when I'm holding onto him.

His apartment is on a shadier side of town, near the big junkyard where all the addicts go to have sex and shoot up, but it's comforting. In the nights I've spent there, I've found that the sound of sirens and yelling and breaking glass have been more like a lullaby to me than anything else, so I never minded.

"Pip!" I hear a voice say as we walk into the apartment.

"God, you smell like shit," I mumble as Eaker embraces me.

He laughs, ruffling my hair. "Sorry, I was cooking up some meth earlier, I haven't showered yet. It smells like cat piss, I know."

I roll my eyes. "It's all good. Hey, William and I are gonna go fuck, but I have money for my pot. Do you have another set of papers too? I have the extra five."

"Yes, I do, in fact," Eaker laughs. "Go, get it on with my roommate. We can make the transaction when you're done."

I smile, heading back into William's room. "Thanks, Eaker."

George Eaker is someone I would call a friend. He's older, about twenty-one, with short dirty blonde hair. He has a bit of stubble, but not too much, with a defined jawline and pretty blue eyes. Despite the fact that he sells every drug under the sun, he usually only smokes pot and drinks. He's pretty nice. We've never had sex, but if he ever asked, I don't think I'd say no.

"So pretty," William mumbles as he brushes some hair out of my face. He sweaty naked body is pressed close to mine, and I can still feel come sliding down my face and neck. We just finished fucking, and I gotta say, it wasn't bad at all. Better than Jacky.

I scoop up a bead of it with my finger and lick it off. "I'm gonna go shower."

"M'kay," William mumbles, rolling onto his back as I get out of bed. I don't bother with clothes since it's nothing Eaker hasn't seen before. I don't think he's gay, but he might be a little bit. You never know with people.

"You gonna shower?" Eaker asks as I step out of William's room.

I nod, wiping off some come from my cheek.

"Before you do, smell this," Eaker prompts, holding up a pot plant. He grows it in the coat closet. He does have a real professional thing going on. Everything is organized and clean, and he has never gotten an order wrong.

I walk over, then let him pull me onto his lap and hold up a plant. I lean in and let out a sigh, smelling the fresh cannabis. "Good batch."

Eaker nods proudly, placing a hand on the inside of my thigh. "I've been using a new soil. Soon enough, I'll have enough money to go to real college."

"What do you want to do?" I ask, letting his hand trail up my leg a bit.

"I wanna be a doctor," he states, smiling at me. "You know, you're awfully pretty."

I smile and plant a small peck on his lips before standing up and walking back over to the bathroom. "I don't like courtship, Eaker. Ask and you will receive."


	6. The sex talk from someone who is in no place to talk about sex

/Alex/

I took the day off of work. I couldn't go back. Not with how angry I am at Jefferson, not with how angry I am at Monroe. I knew if I had walked into that building, I would've walked out with a bloody nose and a black eye, and Monroe would've been rolled out on a stretcher. I knew that would've gotten me fired, and since Washington is already infuriated with me, he would have smiled as he signed the papers. Unfortunately, John did the same thing so for half the day we fought. Well, it was mostly him yelling at me, but still.

He was infuriated about how I just let Phillip leave last night. That was the one thing I fought back on. Truthfully, I'll give Phillip a ride, anywhere he needs to go. I don't want him to be around us fighting. John for some reason doesn't want him to leave the house. I think that's bullshit. I don't want Phillip to have to sit and listen to us argue and fight. It's bad enough he had to witness John almost taking my head off, he shouldn't have to see any more of that. It's not right, it's not fair.

I keep thinking back to Nathan Hale, who has sent me an email since I published the article. I didn't open it. I didn't want to think about it. I just put my phone away and lied down. John is in our room right now, doing whatever. I'm in the living room, on the couch, trying to get a nap. It's hard though since guilt and whatnot is pooling in my stomach. It has been for the past twenty-four hours. All I can think about is the way John cried last night. I could hear it. Worst of all, I couldn't do anything about it. I haven't heard him cry like that since his grandma died, even then he didn't sound so heartbroken, so heart. I'm glad Phillip wasn't here. I'm glad Washington came and picked him up. I did send Washington a text, thanking him, but he left me on open. I would too, but I just wanted him to know I appreciated that.

"Did you even change the sheets from when he was here?" John snaps from the doorway. "Or have I been sleeping on the same fabric you fucked another man on?"

I let out a long sigh. "John, if you're here to pick a fight, I really just want to sleep. We've been fighting for the past twenty-four hours it seems, and I'm sick of it."

"You're sick of it?" John laughs. "How do you think I feel?"

"I think you feel just fine with yelling at me, since you literally came in here to pick a fight with me," I state bluntly.

"You think I like this situation? You think I like the looks of pity I'm getting from all of our friends? How I can't go anywhere without being reminded that I wasn't good enough for you! That you fell out of love with me for a whole summer!" John exclaims, tears coming to his eyes.

"It wasn't like that," I snap, moving closer to him, anger in my eyes.

"Then what was it? Hm? You just thought I'd be okay with it? You just thought you could use a good replacement for me over the summer?" John asks.

"I don't know! I'm not fucking proud of what I did!" I tell him.

"You aren't? Oh, right, that's why you published a detailed illustration of the whole affair for the public to view at their leisure," John snaps.

"Goddammit!" I snap, not knowing what else to say.

"You just forgot about me for some whore! Some half-assed fuck! I don't give a damn what you say, you didn't love me that summer! You didn't love our son that summer! If you did, you would've thought about us!" John cries out, anger in his eyes.

There's a really quiet moment, the only sound is our breath. Both of us are squared up to each other, not breaking eye contact. My heart is beating almost out of my chest, and my eyes are narrowed as I stare down the man who I've loved for so many years, trying to win. I can tell he's not going to back down though, he's too angry for that. So for a solid ten seconds, it's just us. Nothing else, no kid, no pamphlet, no Nathan Hale or Pierre Hale, no angry coworkers and friends, no public shame, just us and our unadulterated anger towards each other.

Then we kiss.

It holds no love. It's just pure hatred. We continue though, John picking me up and dropping me on the couch, still kissing me. We only breakaway to take off our clothing, and soon enough, we're dry humping, making out, trying to almost hurt each other as we do so. I bite John's lip and he smacks my thigh hard enough to bring a sound from my throat. He pulls away and spits on his hand, then rubs it onto his hardening dick. I almost moan at the sight of his body, but it's silenced when I see the hatred in his eyes.

He pushes into me without prepping and doesn't give me time to adjust, just starts thrusting as I lie there, digging my nails into his back and biting his shoulder. I can feel his teeth against my neck, biting me hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, though there already were some from the almost dry thrusting that's going on. My nails are digging into him, most likely leaving crescent marks on his skin.

I reach down and touch myself as I get closer. I can tell he is too because the thrusts are getting sloppier and rougher. His hand reaches up and grabs my neck, choking me. I wheeze as he continues going as deep as he can in me. I can feel him hitting my prostate, I can feel him in my stomach. I come first, a strangled sob escaping my chest. He keeps going through, choking me and hitting my prostate. I'm shaking at this point, my eyes rolled back into my head and my mouth agape. Finally, though, I can feel him come inside me.

He releases my throat and I gasp, taking in as much air as I can. My chest rises and falls rapidly against his. I let my arms wrap around John's neck and relax my back a bit. He's staring at me, a frown still pulling at his lips. I stare right back, my face neutral and my heart beating faster than I've ever felt it beat before. Both of us stay there for a little bit staring at each other, feeling the other's chest against ours. Then John sits up and pulls out of me, sliding off the couch and picking up his clothes.

"This doesn't change anything," he snaps, glaring at me. "Don't try to come into our room tonight looking for some two am booty call. I don't care where you sleep, as long as it's not next to me. Pick up your clothes and get dressed. Phillip is going to be home soon."

"That's it? We have sex and you want nothing else to do with me?" I ask, sitting up.

"We didn't have sex, we fucked," John informs me. "Sex would require actual love, and right now, I really don't feel that towards you." He begins walking out of the living room but then looks back at me in the doorway. "Besides, now you know how your little whore felt."

I sit there in shock as my husband walks out of the room. I can't really move for a second, to shocked by what he said. Does he not love me anymore? Does he, does he have a right to do that? Does he even mean that? I wouldn't be surprised if he did, that whole fuck fest was obviously fueled with pure hate. He and I had always had rough sex, but, just, this was so different. He didn't talk to me, he didn't look at me. He has never choked me that hard. I thought I was going to pass out.

I rub my neck where he bit it and pull my hand back to see some blood. I sigh and get dressed, then go into the second-floor bathroom to clean up. I wash the bite mark, then run my fingers over the hand shaped bruise on my neck. Since John was going raw and barely lubed, some blood came out as I let his come drain out of me. I prefer using a condom is he's not going to do anything to get the come out of me because this is probably my least favorite part of the after sex when I am confined to the bathroom for a couple of minutes.

When I'm finished, I make my way to the kitchen and get an ice pack for my neck to try and get the bruise to fade. I lean against the counter and pour myself a cup of cold leftover coffee from this morning. Since both Phillip and I are coffee addicts, we usually don't have any leftover, but it was just me up early this morning, so the pot was all mine. I didn't feel like drinking a lot of it though, so I just left half of it for later. Phillip is usually home by now, but I'm just gonna assume he's at a friends house. I don't know if I should text him, asking him if he's okay. I'll give it another hour, then I'll text him.

Forty-five minutes go by, and then Phillip walks through the door. I can see the faint outline of a hickey on his neck. I really don't know who he thinks he's fooling. Well, John actually. John never noticed when Phillip would come home smelling like sex, with small bite marks on his neck. Granted, John wasn't too observant of that stuff. I am though, but I never wanted to call him out on it. I feel like I should though, now. Not to tell him he can't do it anymore, but just to make sure he's being safe.

"Hey, Pip, wanna go on a drive?" I ask him.

He looks up at me, cocking his head a bit at the ice pack I'm holding to my neck. "Sure. Let me put my bag upstairs."

I nod and watch him as he goes upstairs. I grab my wallet from the counter, as well as my keys. I'm wearing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, so I don't have to change or anything, I just gotta slip on my Birkenstocks and wait by the door for my son to come back down. When he does, he's changed out of his ripped jeans and sweater and into a pair of red plaid skinny jeans and a mock turtleneck sweater. He's still wearing his regular circle glasses, and his hair is put up in a bun. I've always liked the way he dresses. It's a really cool style.

"Let's go," I say, smiling. "We can stop and get ice cream."

"Sounds good," he replies, walking past me and to the car.

We both get in and he turns on the radio, letting the college station play through the car. I remember for a while Hercules ran the college station and I would sit in the booth with him and study when he had to pull the allnighters. He would talk to me between songs so he wouldn't fall asleep. It was nice. The station has only evolved since then.

"I know now probably isn't the best time to talk about this, but as your parent, it is my responsibility to," I state, turning down the radio as I come to a stop light.

"Yeah?" Phillip mumbles, looking out the window.

"Are you practicing safe sex?" I ask.

He gasps, whipping his head over to me. "Dad!"

"I have to ask! I can't be a good parent and ignore it! I just need to make sure my child is being safe!" I state, feeling heat creep up my neck. "Your pops doesn't notice anything but I have since the beginning of summer!"

"Oh my god," Phillip groans, covering his face with his hands.

"Are you?" I ask.

He nods, still covering his face.

"Okay, and you're using protection, right?" I continue.

"Ahhh!" Phillip yells. "Can we please stop talking about this?"

I almost swerve into another lane but focus back onto the road. I never really did get much better at driving. "Phillip, as your father, I need to talk to you about it. We never really gave you the sex talk because, in all honesty, we thought you weren't interested in sex but we were obviously wrong! So now you have to sit through the sex talk with me! Be thankful we're in a car so you don't have to look me in the eye."

Phillip groans. "Okay, just ask your friggin questions or teach me or whatever."

I nod. "Okay, so you're using protection. Do we have to worry about anyone getting pregnant or anything?"

"Nope," Phillip tells me.

"Do you want to get tested for anything?" I question. "There's a Planned Parenthood. I won't come with you if you don't want to, but I'll pay for it."

He shakes his head. "No, no I always use condoms."

"If anyone ever hurts you, please don't be afraid to tell me. You don't have to feel ashamed or scared, because I won't be angry at you, and we can do whatever you think is necessary. I don't want you to feel afraid to talk to me," I tell him.

"Okay, okay," Phillip mumbles. "Did pops seriously never notice?"

I shrug. "If he did, he never told me. I asked him a few times if he thought you were doing anything and he said I was being silly. I won't tell him anything, I promise. I just want to make sure you're okay and being safe. What ice cream place do you want to go to?"

"The one that has that really good vegan ice cream," Phillip says.

I nod. "I like that place. They make a good strawberry."

I turn up the radio and we drive the rest of the way to the ice cream place in silence. When we get there, Phillip orders some black cherry chocolate vegan ice cream, while I order a normal Neapolitan ice cream. Phillip and John have been trying to get me to turn vegan, and I think the only reason I won't is that they want me to. In all honesty, the only time I don't eat vegan is when we eat out. Even then, I'll eat vegan sometimes. I was getting lunch with Lafayette the other day and I made sure my order was vegan. Although, there doesn't seem to be too much of a point in trying anymore since Phillip is still angry and John doesn't even care.

"What happened to your neck?" Phillip asks as we get back in the car to sit and eat our ice cream.

I glance in the mirror to see the handprint has darkened a bit and the bitemark is peeking out of my shirt. "Uh, um."

"Was it Nathan?" He asks, venom in his voice.

I shake my head. "I haven't seen Nathan in years."

"Then who?" He asks.

My eyes widen as I stare down at my ice cream. "Uh, your pops."

Phillip snorts. "You're shitting me. Be honest, it's not like I'm gonna get any angrier with you. I really don't think it's possible."

I shake my head. "No, it really was your pops. We uh, we both stayed home today and we got into a fight and it escalated."

"He tried to choke you?" Pip asks, almost shocked. His eyes are wide and fear is radiating off of him.

I rapidly shake my head again. "No, no, well, I mean, uh, it escalated but not into more of a fight."

"Oh," Phillip whispers. "Oh. Wait. Okay, nevermind. Sorry for asking."

I nod a bit, taking a bite of my ice cream. "Yeah. Hey, I'm glad you left last night. I didn't want you to be around that and it just got worse."

"Pops looked mad, " Phillip commented.

I roll my eyes. "He can deal with that. You didn't need to hear that, and I didn't want you to hear that. I'm sorry you were trapped in the kitchen when he first walked in."

Phillip shrugs. "It's okay."

"No," I state firmly. "It's not. You shouldn't be subjected to hearing that. How was Washington's?"

"It was fine. Martha made me vegan oatmeal for breakfast," Phillip answers. "Washington gave me a ride to school."

"How was school? Did anyone give you a hard time?" I finish up my ice cream and begin driving. "I don't know how many kids keep up on politics like this, but if they do..."

Phillip shakes his head. "No one has been mean. I've had enough people asking me if I'm okay for a lifetime. Theo had to stop me from crushing my hand in a door so I could go to the hospital and leave."

"You didn't, right?" I ask, looking over at his hands which and held between his legs to keep them warm.

He shakes his head. "No, I didn't. I was close though. Haven't you done stuff like that to get out of meetings or whatever?"

I glance down at the back of my hand, littered with little dots of scar tissue. "I have stapled my hand three times to get out of meetings, and four times to get out of talking to Monroe. I don't want you thinking inflicting harm is a good way to get out of your problems though. Pretending to vomit works just fine, and it hurts less."

He nods. "Got it."

We get home and I step out of the car. Phillip goes ahead of me, entering the house. I stay outside for a while though, sitting down on the stoop and thinking. I'm dreading going back to work tomorrow since I know people there either hate me or think they're better than me. I shouldn't have published this stupid fucking pamphlet. I should've gone to Washington, I should've asked him to help. He would've still been mad at more for what I did, but would he hate me? Maybe not as much as he does now. Would John hate me? Depends on whether Washington told him or not. At least if it had been kept between John and me, he wouldn't have to go through the public embarrassment. God, I'm such a fucking idiot.


	7. Nudes for your dudes

/Phillip/

I sit at the table, on my phone, scrolling through Tumblr as I wait for something to happen. I don't really know what I'd expect to happen, but I guess habits die hard. Usually, right now, we'd all be sitting at the counter, talking about our days, among other things. Today is different though. Because my pops is upstairs, my dad is outside, and I'm right here, waiting for something. I've always liked the quiet, but, not this kind of quiet. I want something to change. I want someone to talk to me. I wouldn't even mind the faint buzzing of fighting right now.

"Hey," my pops says, coming down the steps.

"Oh, hi," I mumble, looking up. "How are you?"

He shrugs. "Fine. How was school?"

I sigh, leaning back in my chair a bit. "It was okay. Long, tiresome. I hung out with some friends afterward, so that was cool I guess."

"Is your dad here?" He asks. I can't tell if he's asking because he genuinely wants to know or if he's just making small talk by noticing his surroundings.

I nod. "Yeah, he's outside. Getting some fresh air I guess. Are you okay?"

My pops chuckles a little bit, smiling at me. "It's not your job to worry about me, Pip. Are you okay? Is there anything you want to talk about?"

I shrug. "I'm not ready to talk about anything yet. I just, I'm so angry that talking about it right now would make me do something I'd regret. Don't get me wrong, I'm furious, I just, I need time to think, and I need even more time to heal. Shit's just so fucked up right now, and I just, I dunno. I need to think about it."

He nods understandingly, gently placing his hand on my shoulder. "I understand. If you need to talk about it, you know where I am."

The door opens and my dad walks in. Everything changes. The almost caring air that surrounded my pops and I shifts into something angry, hateful, and almost terrifying. I shrink down into my seat and snake my hands up to my ears, ready to cover them if yelling starts. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I want to leave but I'm afraid any movement would rock the boat enough to cause a tidal wave of yelling. I feel my hands begin to shake a bit, and I begin to pray for a safe path out of the kitchen and into my room.

"John," my dad greets curtly.

"Where did you go? To fuck your whore?" My pops asks, snarling.

"I took our son for a drive," my dad replies, his voice quieter. "John, please, Phillip is still down here. I don't want to fight in front of him."

"You know what? Maybe you should ask Phillip how he's feeling because of all the shit you've caused," my pops states, crossing his arms.

"John, don't fucking do that," my dad growls. "Don't bring Phillip into this."

"Why not? Scared he'll not like you anymore? Scared he'll be angry?" My pops laughs bitterly and juts his chin out a bit.

My dad clenches his fists. "Goddammit, John, I know he's angry! I know he probably hates me right now, and I'm trying to make it up to him!"

"You ruined our fucking family, good luck with that," my pops laughs.

"Fuck you, go to hell," my dad growls.

"Go upstairs, Phillip," my pops snaps.

I don't hesitate in getting up from the table and running up the steps. I stopped when I got to the second floor though, sitting down on the top steps, just out of sight of my parents, and then I listen. I don't know why I'm listening, but I just feel like in case something happens, in case one of them goes too far, at least I'll be there. At least I could stop it. I don't think my dads would ever get physical in a fight, neither of them is really violent people, at least, they haven't been in my life. I saw that mark on my dad's neck though. As much as I hate thinking about parent sex, I just, it was dark, and it was obvious it wasn't kind. I just worry I guess.

"John, you can't say things like that in front of our son," my dad says slowly, his voice low but shaky. I can tell he's scared or hurt, I don't know. The last time he sounded like that, my grandpa was yelling at him. I remember this very clearly.

I was only twelve, and I had gone down to South Carolina with my parents to visit my abuela and my step abuelo. I didn't know much about what happened to my grandpa, but I did know that after my pops and dad announced they were dating, he didn't take it very well and my abuela divorced him. My pops didn't see him very much after that, neither did my dad. Both of them kinda held the 'good riddance' attitude about it though, since apparently, he was not always the greatest.

Anyway, we were down in South Carolina visiting family. My abuela was wonderful, being very happy to house us and feed us. At one point, her and my pops were making a large dinner for us, so my dad and I went out to walk my abuela's fat pug, Brutus, at the park. My dad and I were just walking around when a man I had never seen before approached us. He was tall, and though I didn't know who he was, I got a bad feeling about him, since my dad tensed up and put his hand on my chest, pushing me back and behind him a little bit.

"Hamilton," the man sneered. "Are you still corrupting my son?"

"You walked out of his life, I wouldn't consider him your son anymore," my dad replied shortly, his voice steady and calm.

"That doesn't answer my question, fag," the man growled.

"Don't use that type of language around my son," my dad stated, his voice still relaxed, but hints of fear leaking in. He gripped my arm a bit tighter, pushing me behind him more.

"He doesn't look like your son," the man laughed, shoving my dad a bit.

"He's John's too," my dad informed him.

"You ruined a long line of Laurens men. This is why you should've stayed in your damn country," the man growled, shoving my dad again.

"I think you'll be happy to know that he goes by Johnathan Hamilton, then," my dad told him, gripping my arm a bit tighter.

The man shoved my dad hard and he fell back, thankfully pushing me away so I was taken down with him. I had never seen anyone be this cruel or heartless to my dad, and I was shocked. I didn't know who this man was, but I had figured that by then that he was my pops dad. I was terrified.

"You're the fag kid. You look like it too," said the man, coming towards me.

My dad was up in a second. "Hey! You can say anything you want to me all day and I'll take it, but the moment you go for my son, I can't let that slide. Mr. Laurens, you and I have always had our differences, but I never considered you a man low enough to insult my child, and by blood, your grandson." He had fear in his voice, but he stayed strong. "John and I are happily married, and we have a wonderful son who we've loved very dearly. If you ever come close to him, insult him, or threaten him, I will not hesitate to prove that I didn't need my father to teach me how to protect my family."

The man scoffed and walked away. My dad asked me if I was alright, to which I nodded. He then explained to me that when he and my pops were in college when they first started dating, my grandfather was less than accepting when they told John's family. That was the first and only time I've ever met the man. It's rare I hear stories about him. I have a wonderful abuela and step abuelo, as well as Washington, who has oftentimes served as a grandpa to me. The memories of my extended family don't bring me much joy now, as I listen to my parent's fight.

"Why not, Alex? You already did," my pops snaps, the anger quite obvious in his voice.

"Actually John, I made a mistake. I'm not trying to bring it up in front of him though. We both know that this is a shitty situation, and I can't apologize enough for what I did, but at least I'm not dragging our fucking child into this," my dad growls.

"This is our family! There's no 'dragging our child into it' because our child is apart of it! He's not a little boy who you can brush of for your job anymore. He notices now! He notices when you ignore us for your work! Don't even think he's okay with what's going on now," my pops yells, hitting the table.

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I know that I broke our son's heart? I am not fucking proud of what I did! I'm not happy I'm fighting with you, that our son is furious at me!" My dad sighs heavily. "Fucking Hell, I hate everything that's been going on. I hate it, but I'm trying to fix it. I'm trying to talk to you!"

"For the last goddamn time, there is nothing to talk about!" My pops snaps, his voice cracking. "I know everything I need to know! I know you brought another man into our house and slept with him! I know you lied about it for years until three people knew, then you decided to say 'fuck it' and share it with the rest of the world! I know you didn't love me that summer! The only thing I don't know is if, is if you've loved me since."

There's a silence that falls over the house, the only noise being my pops, sniffing and trying to be quiet about it. I know my pops cries when he fights because one time he and my dad got into an argument with an elementary school teacher and my pops had to stop talking because he was going to cry. He left the rest of the argument to my dad, who won gracefully.

"John," my dad whispers. "Please, please don't cry."

"What?" It's obvious my pops is crying. "The consequences to your actions finally setting it? Dammit, Alexander, I was happy! I thought I was enough!"

"You were always enough," my dad sighs. "I have no excuse for what I did-"

My pops cuts my dad off. "How dare you touch me with the same hands you touched another man with! How dare you apologize when I should've kicked you out already! How dare you look at me with pity in your eyes! I am not your whore, I am not some cheap fuck, I am your goddamn husband! I should've been enough! You spent thirty-five years of your life with me, telling me I was enough, telling me you love me! You helped me through anything and everything! I thought our love was growing stronger! I thought we were stronger! But you lied! All you did was lie!"

"I never lied when I told you I loved you. I always loved you," my dad argues.

"Fucking hell, Alex, I should honestly hate you!" My pops lets a sob escape his chest. "I should want you to burn! I don't hate you though, and I don't hate Nathan or Pierre, or anyone else. I hate myself. Because you broke my heart, you shattered it with no remorse, and I still love you with every little bit you left me with! Because I still consider my heart yours! I hate this!"

"John, I'm so sorry," my dad says quietly.

"No you're not," my pops spits.

Deciding that I can't take this anymore, I make my way up to my room. My stomach lets out a long and pitiful growl but I ignore it, knowing that they're not going to leave the kitchen for a while. I guess I should be sad that they're fighting, but I really just don't want to think about it. I could ask Peter or William to pick me up for a booty call, but I really feel too tired to actually put in the effort for sex. Maybe I could just send nudes? That usually takes my mind off of anything. It's easier to deal with stuff when you aren't thinking about it.

I don't really wanna send any to Peter, because he has a habit of screenshotting and then saying 'sorry, I'll delete' when in all reality, he keeps 'em. Of course, I deleted my nudes off his phone, because I don't like the idea of someone out there having them. I would send some to William, but he sucks at dirty talk and never sends anything back. It gets awkward sometimes because he'll kinda just go all poetic on me, but he's not a very good poet, so I really can't respond with much else besides a picture of my ass.

An idea pops into my head, something I've never done before. Something I probably wouldn't have thought of unless I was as desperate as I am now. So, as I find his Snapchat and open it to begin typing, I realize that he might not even want nudes, or he might also suck at replying, but there's always dumb luck. So, as I text Eaker, I almost pray.

Me: Hey baby

Eaker: Sorry Pip, I don't give free drugs

Me: No, haha, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe, you know

Eaker:...?

Me: Nudes?

Eaker: Wait, for real?

Me: Yeah, haha. For real.

Eaker: I dunno, Pip, I'm like, twenty-one and you aren't even seventeen.

Me: What am gonna do? Tell the cops you sent me a dick pic? Besides, the age of consent is sixteen, and I turn seventeen in a few months, so what's the difference? Sending nudes isn't gonna be anything considering that yesterday you pulled me onto your lap while I was naked, showed me drugs, and then proceeded to call me pretty.

Eaker: Fair point. Show me the goods

I smile as I strip down to nothing, then tie my hair up in a loose ponytail. I sit in front of my full body mirror on my knees and proceed to rub myself a bit until I get hard, then send him a picture of me on my knees with my dick in my hand. He replies with a picture of his dick, which is at least a solid six inches, in his hand. I smile at that and continue posing, sometimes sending videos of me touching myself.

Eaker: Jesus Pip, when are we gonna fuck?

Me: Anytime, Eaker. I don't like courtship so you better knock it off with calling me pretty. A nice compliment after sex is fine, but we're fuck buddies before we're anything else. Also, as we fuck, please don't call me a whore or slut or anything, I don't like that.

Eaker: Pip's got rules, that's respectable. Anything else?

Me: No romantic feelings. I don't fuck with that shit. Friday nights are a no go because I hang out with Georges then. Back to sexting, I'm still hard.

Eaker: Okay got it.

We continue sending pics back and forth until we finally cum, then say goodnight. I lie on my bed, buck naked as I stare at the ceiling. I can't hear the fighting, but that might just be because I have my own heartbeat ringing in my ears. I don't exactly feel tired, and that's most likely because I haven't eaten dinner, or lunch for that matter. I'm hungry, but I really don't want to go downstairs. I don't want to even risk getting involved with the fight, so I end up turning on Netflix and finding a show about an artist who lives in Brooklyn, and, like me, sleeps around. It's nice to see that kind of stuff, since, you know, what I do isn't exactly celebrated by most people. I don't mind though. The way I see it, my hobbies are exactly what I need them to be, and they are also what I like to do. The sex I have does not define me, it simply offers a bit of knowledge about my life. My body is only my shield, and I have so much more to offer than a late night fuck, but I like to offer what people need.

I pause my show and stand up, deciding that it's too cold to just sit here in my skin. I find a pair of old sweats and a hoodie, then slip them on and sit back down, writing as I listen and watch the show. It's always been hard to focus on one thing only, so I find myself needing other things to do to keep my brain occupied so I can really focus on what's going on. It was never a problem, truthfully. It's not like it's too a point to where I need medication or something, it's just a bit of a tick.

I guess I finally pass out because next thing I know I'm being jolted out of bed to my alarm. The first thing I see is my sleep filled reflection on my laptop screen which blares the words 'are you still watching?' It's ugly, so I close my laptop and sit up, running my hand through my hair. My body is still held down by sleep, but ignore it and get out of bed, looking around to find some clothes. I slip on some pinstripe pants that go down to my mid thigh, as well as a long hoodie and some sneakers. I throw my hair up in a ponytail and grab my backpack, groaning as I remember that English essay is due today I have half of an opening paragraph finished.

I walk down the stairs, tripping on the last couple of ones and stumbling into the kitchen to get some coffee and maybe some breakfast. I don't usually cook myself food or eat breakfast in general unless someone else cooks it. I can be responsible for lunch and dinner, but breakfast has never been my strong suit. Unfortunately though, looks like I'm gonna be drinking coffee since no one is in the kitchen and I don't have the motivation to cook anything. I pour myself some coffee and sit down at the counter, pulling out my phone and open Snapchat, sending out my streaks. I reply to some messages, then post a picture of my mug of black coffee and caption it with 'they call me coffee because I'm bitter and most people don't like me the way I am but the ones who do are usually assholes.'

My dad walks down the stairs and I look up. He has heavy bags under his eyes. He goes to the fridge and pulls out a Redbull, then grabs a mug and a Five Hour Energy. He dumps the Five Hour Energy in the mug, then half the Red Bull. Finally, he fills up the rest of the mug with coffee and then mixes it with a spoon. He takes a sip and makes a face, then takes another sip. I've only seen him make his 'I'm running off pure determination but that's not enough' drink on a few occasions, so he must've not slept well.

"Can I try some?" I ask quietly.

"You're going to be vibrating in your desk," my dad states.

"And?" I urge.

He sighs but hands the mug over. I take a large sip, choking a bit on the repulsive taste but getting it down my throat. It's like fizzy grape flavored black coffee, which is revolting. At least I know it'll wake me up.

"It's awful," I mumble.

"Well, I have work today, so I gotta make sure I stay up long enough to angrily work and avoid the glares from all the people who I've been friends with for twenty-nine years," my dad states, sighing a bit.

"Well, I mean, did you expect a party?" I ask.

He looks at me, about to say something, then shakes his head.

"I should probably get going. See you tonight or something," I grumble, getting up and leaving. I used to not like school very much, but now, at least there is the one place I can get some peace and quiet.


	8. Phillip deserves BETTER

/Phillip/

I don't know how I made it through the first half of the day, but I do know that I'm curled up in the auditorium with my head in Georges' lap, half asleep. He's gently playing with my hair and scrolling through Tumblr, laughing every few minutes. He's incredibly warm, so I find myself trying to get further onto his lap. It starts out with just my head, then a bit of my arm, then my upper half with my arms wrapped around his waist, and at this point, I was trying to curl my legs up so they would be with him.

"You're a cat," Georges comments. "Come on, Pip, readjust yourself so you're just sitting in my lap."

I smile and sit up, then plop myself down to Georges lap. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder and closing my eyes. He reaches one hand up and continues playing with my hair. I sigh and plant a gentle kiss on his shoulder, then continue daydreaming in my half-awake daze. Georges' heat seeps through my body and makes it a lot easier for me to fall asleep. I'm glad it's just me and him because it's hard for me to sleep when there's noise.

"Phillip, come on baby, it's time to wake up."

I groan loudly and hug the warm body closer.

"Come on, Pip, we got English," Georges whines, gently tugging at my shirt.

"Fuck English. Why do English when you could do me?" I ask, smiling to myself.

Georges sighs. "Because that's not an actual option. Come on, Pip. We gotta go to English and turn in our essays."

I chuckle. "Yeah, about that."

Georges gasps. "Phillip, no, you didn't do it? Oh my god, you better go talk to him, ask for an extension or something."

"Good thing I have a pretty decent excuse," I laugh. "I could just say 'hey my house is constantly full of yelling and I have extreme anxiety over the fact that I might have to choose between my dad's in a court of law, can I have an extension?' Who could say no to that?"

Georges pauses. "You think they're gonna get a divorce?"

I nod. "I'm a kid, I'm not an idiot. What kind of marriage really lasts through something like this? Who could totally heal? Let's face it, this, right now, with the yelling and the cursing and the sleepless nights, this is the calm before the storm. Whatever is to come, it's bound to be ten times worse."

"Don't think like that, Phillip," Georges says softly as I climb off his lap and gather my things for English.

"Then how am I supposed to think? My dads aren't like yours," I mumble.

"Hey, what does that mean?" Georges asks me, his voice sounding a bit defensive, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"It means my parents aren't in love anymore! It means that something caused that! Have you ever seen your dads? They, like, they can't stop loving each other! One of them could cheat and the other could lie and they would still be totally and entirely in love! They're so in love that they wouldn't do anything like that in the first place!" My voice has gotten louder, which means it's echoing a bit. "My dads, they're different! This shit broke my pop! You should've heard him last night! It was terrible! You have absolutely no idea what it's like to know that the first love story you were ever told is crashing right before your eyes! To listen to your own father sob because he knows his husband didn't think he was enough! You don't know what it's like to have your own fucking dad be your first heartbreak!" A sob breaks out of my chest. "I thought my parents were forever, I thought they were in love! Why can't I fix this?"

I fall to my knees, crying. Georges is quick to hold me in his arms, rocking me gently. I grip his shirt and cry, knowing that even if we run, we're going to be late to class. I don't care. I just want to cry. I just want to be in this very moment in Georges' arms. I need him to hold me, I need him to tell me it's going to be alright, I need him to speak small French phrases to me. I just need to believe it's going to be okay, even if it's just for a little bit.

After another couple of minutes, I finally calm down. Georges and I stand up and begin walking to class, not saying anything. He holds my hand, rubbing his thumb over my skin. I lean against him a bit, keeping my head down, trying to just make it to English. I can tell Mr. King is about to ask us why we're late and where our tardy pass is, but the moment he sees my face, he just tells us to go sit down. I sit in my desk and start writing the prompt for today. My head hurts a bit, probably from dehydration, but feels better when Georges hands me his water bottle for me to drink from.

"Okay," Mr. King announces, standing up from his desk. "It's time to collect your essays!"

A chorus of groans is heard throughout the classroom.

"I know, I know, it's not like you had three weeks to do this," he says sarcastically as he begins collecting them. Usually, I don't do my homework until the morning before class, but this time I didn't have the motivation or willpower to do it. As he goes down the rows, collecting the papers, I begin to think of some type of excuse, other than the fact that my parent's marriage is falling apart. He collects Georges' essay and then turns to me. I open my mouth to say something, but before seven different blubbering excuses come spilling out of my throat, he speaks up.

"Two-week extension, Pip. You can work in my classroom after school if you want," he says kindly, smiling a bit at me.

I nod and close my mouth, then he continues collecting essays. Well, that was a lot easier than I thought. Truthfully I thought I'd have to get on my hands and knees and beg, maybe even cry a little. At least he gets it.

"Man, you lucked out. Two weeks? How'd you do that without even talking?" A kid behind me asks.

"It's just because his bastard dad published his own sex scandal," another one points out, laughing a bit. Their voice is quiet so I can tell they didn't mean for me to hear.

I smack my hand on my desk and turn around, fire in my eyes. "Don't you ever speak of my father like that! He has made mistakes but it'll be a cold day in hell when I stop defending the Hamilton name. If I hear you say anything like that again I will not hesitate to-"

Mr. King cuts me off. "Hamilton! Livingston! Enough! I do not tolerate bullying or threats in this classroom."

I square my jaw and turn back around, glaring. Georges leans over a bit and gently places his hand on my thigh. I brush it off quickly and begin taking the notes and listening to Mr. King talking about his class. Anger surged through me, even after I've left, so I find myself partaking in some activities in the gym, wearing Peter out quite a bit.

School ends, and I stand by my locker, wondering what to do. I don't want to go home, I don't want to go anywhere really, so, I find myself knocking on the doorway of Mr. King's room, looking timid as I hold my laptop in my hands.

"Hey, Phillip," he says, smiling. "Come to work?"

I nod. "How long are you gonna be here?"

He shrugs. "I'm usually here until three thirty."

I nod. "Okay."

"Oh, if you would like to be alone, I could unlock the theatre," Mr. King offers. "I know you sometimes spend lunch in there, and if you'd like to work in there, just because I know that sometimes being alone can really boost your mood."

I look up gently. "Could you?"

Mr. King nods, standing up and walking out of the classroom with me behind him. "Tell me, Pip, have you thought about college or future career options?"

I shrug. "I want to go out of the country for college, and then maybe stay there. I was looking at the Netherlands for college. Amsterdam University offers really good English and writing programs. After that? I would want to be a photographer for a big magazine, or, like, a writer for a magazine or something. Art Forum would be a dream job. I could travel and stuff like that."

"What do your parents think?" Mr. King asks me, looking back at me a bit.

I shrug. "They know, but I don't think they know how serious I am about it. I've contacted employees and asked them questions, so I'm pretty informed on what it takes to get hired there. I just hope I can make it."

"That's very cool, Phillip," Mr. King states, unlocking the auditorium door. "I think you have exactly what it takes, as long as you maintain your school grades."

I smile. "Thank you, Mr. King."

His smile fades a bit as he looks at me. "On a more real note, are you okay?"

I shrug. "Just going with the flow right now. Nothing is definite, nothing is set in stone. Just gotta keep my head up and put my attention everywhere but my family life. Luckily, I have plenty of distraction worthy things. I'll be good."

"Well, if you ever need a place to go after school for a bit, I'm here until three thirty. You're always welcome," Mr. King says gently.

I nod as I step into the theatre. "Thank you."

"Any time, Phillip," he replies, walking away.

I make my way to the stage and sit down, leaning against a sandbag that has been propped against a wall. I pull out my laptop and begin working on my essay. It's supposed to be five pages about the theme Romeo And Juliet, which Mr. King stated many a time that he only thought it because he had to. He is more of a Midsummer's Night's Dream person, while personally, I prefer The Tempest.

As I think about Romeo And Juliet, I begin to think of my parents. Of their love. They both met when they were so young, they fell in love, they got married, and then some sort of Capulet Montague combination of Nathan Hale and Pierre Hale and my dad's bad decision making got involved and it died. The Romeo and the Juliet of this love story died, and now they're just a flurry of anger and pain.

Deciding I'm not in the mood to think about that, I open Netflix and begin watching the Breakfast Club since it's one of my favorites. For Halloween, I want to be the criminal, and I'm trying to convince Georges to be the princess or at least a more masculine version of her. He looks great in the lipstick, and his hair can sort of be styled the way hers was, except more curly and a lot darker. I don't mind though, I think we'd look great. 

I've always been a bit obsessed with old movies. I just think they come from a time that's so different from now. It almost baffles me that 'gay' was an insult when nowadays, no one even cares. Jocks are gay, nerds are gay, anyone in between is gay. It's a good evolution I think, to make everyone gay. The population will go down hopefully, global warming will be abolished, no more poverty, and maybe we can kill Jeff Bezos with the newfound gay army. Finally kill off that top one percent, use the money to buy houses for the poor, or at least overthrow the capitalist government and rebuild a peaceful socialist society, where no one is poor or rich, no one goes hungry, health care is free, any groups similar to the Nazi party or the Confederacy are stomped out and burnt to the ground. I feel like it's going to take a bit more evolution though to be able to do that, so for now, a black woman president and a large expanse of gay boys for me to fuck will do.

I leave at three fifteen, sneaking out the auditorium exit and making my way home. I have the money for a cab or bus ride, but I've always enjoyed walking. Since we live on one hundred and ten west and seventy-sixth street, about a block and a half west of central park, and since my school is only on the upper east corner of Central Park, I often find myself walking through Central Park to get home. It's a nice quiet walk. It's enjoyable to see the way the leaves change colors as the seasons shift into fall. Only a few more days until October first, which is one of my favorite months. September always gets a little depressing around New York, for a few obvious reasons, but soon enough I'll be drinking pumpkin spice latte's with Georges and walking downtown visit the Stonewall bookshop and maybe Trinity Church if I have the time.

I've never been an intense believer in God. Well, let me restate. I've never been an intense follower. My trips to church are rare and far in between, and I'm not one to pray every night before bed. I do believe though, that God is up there, and she is watching over me and loving me unconditionally. I just find that my Christianity has never been best represented when I am in a church. A church is truthfully when I feel the least connected with God because it all feels so forced. I feel God when I am walking through the streets of New York on a rainy day. I feel God when I am lying next to Georges and smoking pot. I feel God when I am in the pure moments in my life. She brings me to the best times, and that is when I can feel her love radiating through me. I can call myself a Christian, but my own kind of Christian. I know God is up there, and I know she loves me, so truthfully, as long as I put my faith in her, I don't see exactly how I could be 'doing it wrong.'

I arrive home, ready to eat for the first time in over twenty-four hours, but I am greeted with yelling the moment I step through the door. This time, it's not just my pops, it's my dad too. They're both angry, yelling about something. They don't even notice me as I slip back out the door. Instead of going in that way, I just make my way up the fire escape and into my room. Unfortunately, though, the yelling is loud and clear as I open my window, so I end up flopping onto my bed and covering my ears with my hands.

Tears begin rolling down my cheeks and I bury my face in my pillow and sob. I don't know if they'll be able to hear me or not, so I have to bite on my pillowcase to try and muffle myself. My body shakes as I cry harder, pulling a blanket over me. I feel sick, hurt, heartbroken, and really hungry. I don't know why they can't stop fighting. Just for one night. They've been like this all week, I just want to be able to sleep.

Hours pass, and soon enough, I decide I can't take it anymore. My stomach is cramping, my eyes are watering. I can't go downstairs. So, I pack a bag and text one of my dad's works friends, Thomas Jefferson, Peter's dad. He's always been very nice to me and told me embarrassing stories about my dad, so I figure he'd let me stay over.

Me: Hey, could you come to pick me up?

Thomas: Are you okay?

Me: My dads are fighting in the kitchen and I can hear it from my room.

Thomas: Meet me out front, I'll be there in five.

Me: Okay.

I climb down my fire escape and then go out front, sitting myself down on the stoop. I can hear them from outside, and it hurts. I can't tell what they're saying, but I know it must be mean because I can hear the venom, the cruelty, the harshness in their tone. My heart hurts, my head hurts, and I just want to leave. I can hear my stomach growling, begging for some type of nourishment. I can only massage it gently and pray that Thomas and James have food, though it's doubtful they don't.

I almost let out a sob when I see Thomas' car pull up. James is in the passenger seat, smiling sadly at me. I'm quick to get up and get into the car, holding my bag close to me. I have to swallow back the lump in my throat. I just want them to get along. Why can't they at least ignore each other? It would be better than fighting. What is fighting to do for them anyway? It's not fixing anything. They should get counseling or something if they want to actually talk about their feelings, not just fight in the kitchen while their kid starves upstairs.

"Hey, Pip," Thomas says gently.

"Hi," I mumble. "Thank you, for picking me up. I just, I couldn't be there anymore."

James looks back at me. "Don't worry, Pip. We're happy to do so. We don't believe children should be in a hostile situation, and if you felt uncomfortable, then that was all that mattered. Are you hungry?"

I nod. "Starving."

"When was the last time you ate?" Thomas asks slowly.

"Yesterday morning. My dads, they fight in the kitchen, so it's not exactly easy to get food." I laugh bitterly.

Thomas lets a low sound from his throat.

"Just say it," I mumble.

"Hm?" He urges me to go on.

"I know that sound. You want to say something about that," I clarify. "Just say it."

Thomas sighs. "Your dad and I have known each other for a very long time. So, when I found he cheated on your pops, I was very shocked. I was part of the first three people who knew, and though I told him many times that I didn't want to be a part of the witch hunt in the first place, he refused to believe me and blamed me for this. He's been giving me the cold shoulder, making rude remarks. I just, it makes me feel angry when he does that and then I find out what you're going through. If they have problems, then that's their thing, but you are being dragged into this and hurt in more ways than one by this. They need to handle this situation like adults for the sake of their child."

I shrug. "They're both mad."

James turns to me again. "That doesn't give them any excuse to hurt you. I'm sorry you had to go through that, but you always have a place at the Jefferson's."

I nod and look out the window until we arrive at their brownstone, deeper into downtown Manhattan than I remembered from the last week I went there, but as they pull into their driveway, I do remember it. I get out and follow them inside timidly. Peter, who is sitting at the kitchen table looks up at me, almost confused.

"Peter, kiddo, you mind going upstairs for a little bit? Give Phillip and us some time to talk?" James requests gently.

"Is he okay?" Peter asks, standing up.

"Yeah, just give us a moment," Thomas states.

Peter nods and walks upstairs.

"Okay, Pip, I know you're vegan, so I could steam you up some vegetables. We also have hummus, and leftover quinoa with avocado and a really good bean sauce. It also comes with cheese and pork but all the ingredients are separate so I could cook that up for you?" Thomas asks, looking through the fridge.

"The quinoa?" I ask quietly.

"Sounds good," Thomas states, pulling out some Tupperware.

"Do you wanna talk about what's been going on?" James asks me softly, sitting down next to me at the kitchen table.

I shrug. "I don't want to bother you."

He places his hands over mine. "You're not going to bother me, I promise."

I sigh. "I just, I'm so fucking sick of them fighting. I know it hasn't been that long, but, like, I just feel so hurt. They've barely talked to me, and I'm so angry at both of them. I'm angry at my dad for causing all of this, for hurting the family like this. He, he published this thing with no thought for anyone but himself. He hurt me and my pops, he wrecked this fucking family. This, it broke my pops." I sigh. "I feel bad for saying this, but I'm also mad at my pops. I'm mad because he doesn't care if I'm in the room or not, he'll just start fighting with my dad, and he even tried to bring me into the fight the other day. I mean, I get it, he's mad, I am too, but, I'm sick of running from rooms as my parents erupt in a flurry of yelling and anger. I just want my house to be a home again."

"Jesus Christ, Phillip you do not deserve that," Thomas states as he stirs a pot. They don't have a microwave so they reheat everything on the stove.

I shrug.

"Hey," James whispers quietly. "I know things are hard for you right now, but you're not alone. You have a very large support system. Thomas and I, Lafayette and Herc, Aaron and Theodosia. Angelica should be back real soon, no more than a couple of weeks. You aren't alone in this, Phillip. Okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

"And here you go," Thomas states, setting down a bowl in front of me.

"Holy crap," I mumble, taking a bite. "This is so good."

Thomas smiles and sits down across from us. "The south taught me well. How's school going for you?"

I shrug. "I have two weeks to write an essay I already had three weeks for, and I haven't even started. I have to write about the theme of Romeo And Juliet, which is a bad play in my personal opinion."

"How? It's like, a love story," James states. "Forbidden love, much like what Thomas and I went through."

I shake my head. "You and Thomas are Thisbe and Pyramus because they were a good relationship, they were also part of the forbidden love trope. Romeo And Juliet is like, almost the perfect template for a broken marriage. It's quick, it's rushed, it's full of lust. Thisbe and Pyramus didn't even know what the other looked like before they fell in love."

Thomas nods, agreeing. "He's right, James. You really should read up on your Shakespeare."

I continue eating and talking to them until my food is finished and a yawn escapes my mouth. I only now realize how tired I am. I haven't been sleeping too well, so maybe I'll get some better sleep tonight, because Jesus, I really wouldn't mind at least six hours.

"Okay, kid, time for you to go to bed. You don't mind bunking with Peter, do you?" James asks me as he stands up and grabs my bowl, walking to the sink.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. Thank you."

"Any time," Thomas says, smiling as I head upstairs. I know exactly where Peter's room is because I've been here a million times. So, as I crack open his door, I realize some distraction wouldn't be too bad right now. He's lying on his bed, shirtless, reading a novel about one thing or another. That's the thing about Peter, he doesn't show it, but he's actually really smart. Like, he has better grades than me, and while that's not saying much because I don't get very good grades, but regardless, he's very intelligent.

"Hey, Peter," I say quietly, stepping into his room and dropping my bag.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks, looking up from his book with concern.

I nod, smiling a bit. "Yeah, the house just got a little, you know, loud, so your dads picked me up. They're going to bed soon though, so maybe we could... entertain ourselves?"

"I dunno, Phillip, you're like, not in a very good place emotionally right now," Peter states, sitting up as I climb onto his head.

"So? Sex is a coping mechanism, you'd be helping," I tell him, trying to make him feel better about the sin I want to do. "Just, relax, Peter. We're only young once."

"You should be a lawyer," Peter mumbles, grabbing my hair and pulling my face closer to his. "You've got quite a way of convincing people."

I giggle, rubbing the front of his tented sweatpants and biting my lip. "Oh come on, Peter, be honest with me. How could you say no to this?"


	9. You go T-Jeffs, you go Burr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I see people advertising vaginal deodorant it makes me mad because 1) vaginas are supposed to have an odor, and 2) if your vagina smells abnormally bad, then chances are there's something wrong and you should see a doctor

/Alex/

I wake up on my office couch, my back sore and my head pounding a little bit. I groan and sit up, finding a bottle of aspirin and taking a few. I gotta text Phillip and make sure he is okay and spent the night at the Jefferson's because I know that was their car that pulled up. I'm glad he left, I don't want him to be around for this, and I really don't want him to be around for when John finally snaps and slams down the papers. I don't want Phillip to be here the day John tells me he wants a divorce. I know it's coming, I know there's no stopping it, but I also know that I don't want Phillip to be around for it.

I grab my phone and check my email, seeing that there's going to be a meeting at nine. After that, I stand up and get dressed, straightening my tie in the mirror and packing up my laptop and papers into my leather briefcase. I walk downstairs and realize that, yet again, there are dishes in the sink from the fact that neither of us wants to give the other that small bit of satisfaction, but now this is just unsanitary, so I roll up my sleeves and begin to load the dishwasher. I remember to be super careful with the mug that Phillip painted when he was in preschool, and then put the dishwasher on high because John doesn't like the idea of old food or germs staying on our dishware. When I finish doing that, I sit back down and stare at my coffee.

"You did the dishes," a voice says slowly.

I turn to see John standing at the bottom of the steps in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes a bit. I look back down to my coffee and smile sadly. "Yeah, uh, it was piling pretty high and we were running out of dishes, so..."

He nods and goes to make his coffee. I remember the exact way he makes it. Half the cup is filled with coffee, the other half is filled with cinnamon vanilla flavored vegan creamer. Then, John puts a spoonful of coconut oil in it for healthy fats and energy throughout the day, and then he adds a sprinkle of cinnamon and a few drops of vanilla, just because the flavor of the creamer isn't always enough. He mixes it together and waits three minutes for it to cool, then begins drinking it. 

For breakfast, he usually pairs that with a vegan bean burrito. It has beans, salsa, and a sprinkle of nutritional yeast, all on a whole wheat tortilla. He wakes up thirty minutes earlier just so he can have that kind of breakfast. I usually just have black coffee, and if John reminds me, a cereal bar or something like that. This morning, he didn't feel the need to remind me, only set one down in front of me. I slip it in my pocket and dumped the rest of my coffee in a to-go mug so I could take it to work without worry of spilling it.

It takes twenty-seven days to make a habit, and three days to break it. I've always found that a little ridiculous and unnecessary of the human mind. A whole month of progress can be torn down in three days. Those three days can be a really long time, and these three days have been long. This is the third day though, so, the habit isn't technically broken, by neither John nor I. So, I do what I usually do before I leave for work. Or, what I usually did, before I messed up, before I hurt John, hurt Phillip, hurt my family.

"Bye, love you," I mumble, kissing the top of John's head.

"Love you too..." John trails off, the looks up at me, confusion and hurt in his eyes. I realize what I've done and take a few steps back, reaching down and grabbing my briefcase. John is biting his lip, and I almost feel like I want to throw up. We haven't told each other we love each other since the morning I published the pamphlet.

"I'm sorry, I should go," I whisper, walking out of the kitchen and to the door. 

I grab my coat and slip it on, then leave. My heart is beating rapidly as I make my way to my car and begin driving. I swallow back any tears and focus on my breathing. I have to keep up my whole 'I'm angry and don't want to talk to any of you' facade at work. I had been pretty quiet, and when I did talk, it was in angry outbursts of arguments in meetings. I had especially been giving Jefferson the cold shoulder. He tried to talk to me a few times yesterday, and I told him to fuck off. That brought of a choice of words from Madison, but those were quickly silenced by a guilty looking Jefferson.

I pull into the parking lot and wait for a second in my car, taking deep breaths. I really just want to go home and talk to John. Just, talk to him. I want to have one conversation with him that doesn't involve yelling or angry sex or anything. Just, talking. I don't care if we're talking about what I did, how he feels, anything. I just want to talk to my husband. I miss him. I miss being with him. God, why did I do this?

I step out of my car and make eye contact with Lafayette from across the parking lot. He glares at me, then continues walking into the building. I slow my pace so I don't have a single chance of catching up with him or even taking the same elevator as him. He was my best friend, my absolute best friend, and he now hates me. He won't even talk to me. I tried to talk to him once yesterday and he flipped me off, then walked away. Aaron witnessed the whole thing, then just shrugged at me and walked away too.

I get to the top floor and begin walking to my office, keeping my head low. I hear Monroe snicker, and I resist the urge to punch him square in the nose. I know if I did, I would lose my job. I haven't technically done anything that Washington would fire me over, but I'm sure if I step out of line even a little bit, he'll have no problem handing me my pink slip and a box of my things, then kicking me out. I just have to stay in line for a little bit, just until things calm down.

"Hamilton!" I hear a loud voice yell. I turn and instantly feel a hand on my chest, shoving me a bit. It's Jefferson.

"What the fuck!" I yell, regaining my balance and baring my teeth.

"What the fuck to you!" Jefferson yells back instantly. "You fucked up pretty bad with this whole Hale pamphlet, but this? This is a whole new fucking low for you!"

People are now looking at us. I see Lafayette and Burr watching us, even Washington has poked his head out of his office.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I growl.

"I'm talking about the fact that your kid texted me last night asking me to come to pick him up because he could hear you yelling from his room!" Jefferson lets out a quick and angry sigh. "You can hate me all you want but I feel no fucking pity for you, Hamilton. I feel no goddamn pity for you. You were the one who slept with Nathan Hale, you were the one who published that pamphlet. Hate me all you fucking want, but I hate you more."

"Whatever, Jefferson," I snap.

He lets out a laugh. "Really? Whatever? Okay, well, since we have the attention of the entire office, let's talk about some of the things Phillip said when he arrived at my house. Firstly, fucking firstly, the kid hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours because you and John had been fighting in the kitchen! I could hear his stomach growling from the backseat! Then, oh and then, he told me that you and John tried to bring him into a fight? That's so fucked up!"

"That wasn't me, that was John," I point out.

"I don't give a damn! You need to get your shit together!" Jefferson shoves me again. "Phillip is fucking heartbroken! He's so hurt and scared! You and John need to grow the fuck up and act like adults for the sake of your fucking child!"

"Shut the fuck up Jefferson you don't know what you're talking about," I snap.

"I know exactly what I'm fucking talking about! You think James and I don't get into arguments? You think we don't sometimes just want to yell at each other? We have never argued in front of our goddamn child though!" He shoves me again. "You and John have your shit going on, and that's not going to change, but you guys need to stop arguing in front of Phillip! Both you and John have hurt your son! You need to fix this!"

"I can't fix it because John won't talk to me!" I yell.

"Figure it out, Alexander," Thomas growls lowly. "If you love your child, you'll try."

He turns on his heel and walks away, James next to him. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. I can feel the anger in the air. I want to start swinging. I don't, I can't. I'd get fired and then there'd really be absolutely no reason for John to stay with me.

I turn to Washington. "Sir-"

He cuts me off. "He didn't publish a ten-page essay about his sex life and infidelity and he sure as hell fed his child, so I would say he's allowed to do that. Lafayette, can I get a second opinion?"

Lafayette nods, glaring at me. "I think Jefferson was completely justified. In fact, I think he almost took it too easy on Hamilton."

I flip Lafayette off and storm off into my office. I grumble profanities, opening my laptop and beginning to review a case file that I've been working on. I quickly lose attention though and pull out my phone, ready to text Phillip and make sure he's okay and he made it to school.

Me: Hey, are you in school?

Phillip: Yeah, why?

Me: Just checking. Everything was okay at Jefferson's last night?

Phillip: It was.

Me: Okay, have a good day at school. I love you, Pip.

Phillip: Love you too, dad.

I sigh and sit back, groaning. This case is boring and we have four other people looking at it. I don't want to read it over for the millionth time. So, instead of doing so, I grab my book, Records Of The Federal Convention of 1787 and begin reading. Unfortunately, that doesn't last very long because soon enough, Aaron Burr is stepping into my office, holding a file. He has on his glasses and looks a little stressed. I close my book and look up at him lazily. He doesn't wait for an invitation, instead just sits down and opens up his file, obviously getting ready to talk to me about something.

"You here to yell at me too?" I ask.

"Hamilton, our professional relationship is simply that, professional. I am not saying that what Jefferson did was wrong, I am saying that it's not what I would do. Now stop throwing yourself a damn pity party and be a lawyer," Burr snaps.

I sit up. "What do you need?"

He sighs, handing me a few papers. "Everyone was so busy hating on you, no one stopped to look at Nathan Hale, so I contacted him asking if he wanted to sue you."

I gasp angrily.

"You should be thankful he said no," Burr informs me. "He didn't want to sue you, but it turns out he was still with Pierre Hale, who was still abusing him. So, unlike anyone else Nathan had ever asked for help from, I decided to actually do something. Currently, Nathan and I are working together to create a case against Pierre. Nathan is still living with Pierre and we've set up cameras to capture the abuse. This is where you come in. Nathan told me that, well, you were quite the photographer, and we were wondering if you still had those photos.

"Do you have your laptop?" I ask.

Burr shakes his head. "Let me go get it."

I nod and stand up, making my way back over to the filing cabinet and pulling out the file that I showed Jefferson, Monroe, and Frederick. I pull out the sealed envelope, then grab my sharp, sword-like letter opener and slice the paper smoothly. I pull out the small thumb drive and move it between my fingers. I hadn't looked at it in years. Not since John came back after that fateful summer.

Burr comes back in and sets his laptop on my desk, opening it and signing in. I explain to him that these are sexually explicit photos and that if these are to be used in court, I would like myself blurred or cropped out. Burr agreed and I plugged in the thumb drive, clicking on it.

I find the photo of Nathan on his knees in front of me, his face covered in come. He also has a black eye that Pierre had given him. I download that onto Burr's laptop. I provide him with more, and he writes down the date that each one was taken. Shame sets in my stomach as I show him more. There are ones where there are no bruises apparent, but there are a lot more than show Nathan was beaten, but still letting himself be used by me. I don't know why I didn't help, why I just thought fucking him would be a good idea, but right now, the only thing I feel is regret.

When we finish, Burr stands up, taking his laptop in his hand. "Hamilton, I've always respected you. Even after you published the pamphlet, I still respected you more than most. After seeing these pictures though, seeing the way you just used Nathan when he was obviously being hurt, I can't respect that. You made a big mistake publishing that pamphlet, but what you've shown me is even worse than that. You should be grateful I don't report you for aiding and abetting domestic violence."

"I can't believe you were going to just sell me out!" I exclaim.

Burr shakes his head, sighing as he walks out of my office. "I swear, your pride will be the death of everyone. Beware, he goeth before the fall."

I sit back, rubbing my face a bit. Burr was one of the last people who didn't hate me, and because of what I did, even he can no longer stomach me. The friends who I've had for years have turned their back on me. Of course, I can't help but believe I deserve it. They all watched me fall in love with John. Lafayette and Hercules helped me plan the proposal, Washington was the officiant, Thomas and James helped us find a good surrogate mother. Even Burr and I would take turns babysitting the kids every Saturday night. These were the greatest people I had ever had the honor of calling my friends, but now they're gone, and it's my fault.


	10. Phillip Hamilton is calling you (the little bitch) out

/Phillip/

Me: Hey, I know Theo is at choir, but can I hang out at your house for a bit?

Aaron: Yeah, sure Phillip. I am making some food, so you can eat here if you would like. Theo won't be home for a bit but feel free to stay and do your homework and stuff like that. If you want to spend the night, you can.

Me: Thank you.

Aaron: Any time kid.

I get up from the park bench and begin walking to the Burr's house. They live in the upper East side, so just a hop skip and a jump from school. I've never liked the east side much, they're all quite pretentious, but they have a few good pizza joints, so it's not all too bad. I know Aaron offered to let me eat at his house, so I resist the smell of cheese and bread, making my way to Burr's house.

I've known the Burr family just as long as I've known the Lafayette family, so my whole life. They've always been wonderful people. In fact, one of my first memories is in their house. I must've been three or two, and I was sitting with Theo while our dads sat on the couch behind us, talking and laughing. Theo and I were watching cartoons, also laughing. It was nice, pleasant. Thinking about that now reminds me of simpler times; When my dads were in love, when I could go straight home, when things were normal. I miss those days. I miss my family being together. I miss not having all this built of anger towards my dad and pops. I miss the life I had and the people I loved.

I knock on Aaron Burr's door, fiddling with a strap on my backpack. He doesn't open it, instead, I'm greeted by Dosia, wearing a paint covered, her hair up, her face and hands splattered with different colors. She's smiling, and music can be heard from inside, as well as the smell of incense and a little bit of pot.

"Pip! Hey! Sorry, I was just working on an art piece. Aaron is in the kitchen, so you can go sit with him and get your homework done if you like," she states, her voice like music as she pulls me inside.

"Thank you," I tell her, nodding a bit.

"Don't be silly. You don't have to thank us. We love having you over, Phillip," she replies to me. "Aaron said dinner should be ready in half an hour. He's making some weird vegan thing, but I know you're vegan so it works out. Now, I have to go pop some paint filled balloons onto a canvas."

"You go Mrs. Burr," I state, laughing as she makes her way upstairs. I walk into the kitchen and the smell of tomatoes, basil, and other things fill my nose. Burr is in the kitchen, dancing a bit as he cuts something up. The music is some Hispanic rap, and Aaron is singing along very nicely. I sit down at the kitchen table, setting my bag down and pulling out my homework from my AP calculus class. I have to have at least four AP classes to qualify for college in Amsterdam, so I'm really cramming. I need two more and so next year I'll be taking AP Chem and AP Euro, which is an English and History class crammed into one. I know it'll be stressful but I also know I'll be able to do it.

"Oh, hey Pip," Aaron says, smiling as he turns around.

"Hello," I greet. "Thank you for letting me come over."

He nods. "Of course. You're always welcome. How was school?"

I shrug. "It was okay. You know how high school is. Hard, stressful. Half the kids there are about to slip into a caffeine induced coma if they haven't already."

"Well, if that's high school, then just you wait for college," Aaron laughs. "You know, your dad once walked into class and he was actually shaking and so we asked what he was on, and apparently he had brewed coffee with Redbull and Monster mixed together, and then added some Five Hour Energy's to top it off. Once that wore off, which wasn't until about three the next day, he slept for at least eighteen hours."

I shudder. "I'm nervous for college."

"Where are you going? You gonna be like all of us and head a few blocks up to Columbia?" Aaron puts vegetables into a pot and turns on the stove. "I'm making a soup by the way. It's a Thai pumpkin curry with vegetables and I'll have rice too."

"Sounds good." I shake my head. "But no, I'm not going to Columbia. Actually, I'm not even staying in the country."

"You aren't? Where you headed?" Aaron asks me, taking off his apron and sitting down with me. "Did your dad's love of the Caribbean really rub off on you that much?"

I shake my head again, laughing. "No, I'm actually headed to Amsterdam. I'm gonna study English and art. Georges is going to Lille, France to study so it'll be nice to have a friend nearby. I know Theo wants to go to Japan, but at least she'll be close."

"You and Georges, what's that all about?" Aaron asks me.

I shrug. "You're not the first person to have asked that, but honestly, there's not a lot to tell. We've kissed a couple of times, but we're not dating. At this point in my life, I'm not really in the mood to date. I have too much shit going on. I mean, honestly, the one relationship I thought I could rely on existing just got fucked over, so who's to say I'm any different from my pops or dad? The question is, do I have the guts to cheat, or am I obvious enough to let someone cheat? I don't know the answer."

"You think that because there is stuff going on with your parents that love isn't an option for you?" Aaron asks softly, placing his chin on his hand.

I shake my head. "I never said love. Love has nothing to do with it. My dad didn't cheat because he doesn't love my pops. I know he loves my pops. My pops isn't yelling at him because he doesn't love him, I know my pops loves my dad. The problem isn't whether they love each other or not, it's that they both love each other still. That's what is making the situation so incredibly hurtful because every anger filled word is like a bullet to the other. I won't be able to help it if I fall in love, but I try to avoid it, because falling out of love? That's a real mother fucker if you ask me."

Aaron pauses for a moment, then leans back. "You are wise for your years."

"I'm being honest," I state.

"A poet, right?" He asks, looking for confirmation in my eyes.

I nod.

"I can tell." He chuckles. "Have you written anything since this happened?"

I feel ashamed as I shake my head.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Aaron smiles kindly at me. "I think it might help you to channel some of your emotions into your writing though. You have a very interesting way with words, and I think writing would be one of the better outlets for you right now."

I nod, then look back down at my math homework and sigh. "Do, do you know how to do AP calculus?"

"Well of course I do, let's see," Aaron says, adjusting the paper so he can look. He stares at it for a second, smiling, then stands up and walks to the steps. "Dosia! Honey! I don't know how to do maths! Help!"

A few seconds later, Theo came back down, smiling and covered in significantly more paint than when she opened the door. "What kind of math?"

"AP calculus," I tell her.

"Well, I am a math professor at our old college, so I don't see why I wasn't the first person you asked," she jokes, sitting next to me. "Okay, well, you just need to figure out the equation of the parabola and then you need to figure out if it's real or not."

Dosia explains to me how to do it, and I finally have the a-ha moment, then Dosia goes back upstairs to work on her art while Burr continues with the cooking. I continue doing my math, which I have to say, isn't very fun, but I have to get it done. I'm really trying to stay on top of classes, and right now I'm taking AP calculus and AP art, so I'm just trying to stay above water. Next year I'll only need to take one AP class and then I'll qualify for Amsterdam University. I can't wait to get out of New York. I do love my hometown, but I don't want to live here. Georges and I have talked about settling down in a little house on the coast in Oregon. We sometimes look at little one-room condos near the beach. Sharing a bed to prevent loneliness. I can write, Georges can do his thing, which I'm pretty sure is either teaching or digital design for widespread companies, as well as advertising, and logo design.

"Hey, Pip?" Aaron says.

I look up from my notebook, where I had been outlining the essay. "Yeah?"

"You are like, getting urges to do anything to yourself that's, like, harmful, yeah?" Aaron asks me. "I just, I know some of your family medical histories due to conversation and I just like, I want to make sure you're staying safe, okay?"

I nod. "I am."

"And you can talk to me whenever you want to. I know I'm no John or Lafayette, but I do care about you. I remember when I first saw you. Both you and Theo were so young. I love my daughter, but Pip, I love you too. You are like my son. So if you need a place to stay, a meal to eat, even just someone to talk to, I'm here." Aaron gently places his hand on my shoulder.

I'm about to thank him, but the doorbell rings. Aaron holds up a finger and heads to the door. When he opens it, a man walks in, holding a folder. He's about my dad's height, with brown fluffy hair. He looks almost a little Asian, but not quite. He has a bit of a bruise on his jaw, but it looks faded. He's wearing a brown tee shirt and blue skinny jeans. He looks too determined to even notice me as he sets the file on the table.

"I found all the pictures! The ones I took when it first started!" He says excitedly.

"Nat, uh, we have company," Aaron states, walking in a gesturing to me.

The man, Nat apparently, looks up at me. "Oh, we do." He laughs a bit, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, I just, I got excited about something. Hi."

I nod. "It's okay. Hi, I'm Phillip."

He smiles at me. "Nice to meet you, Phillip. I'm Nathan."

"Nathan," I say, just under a whisper. "Nathan, what's your last name? Like, currently?"

"Phillip I really don't think-"

Nathan cuts Burr off, giving him a weird look. "You probably have heard of me from some pamphlet. I'm Nathan Hale."

I swallow hard and abruptly stand up, my heart beating fast.

"Deep breaths, Pip," Aaron whispers, stepping forward a bit.

"I'm sorry, did I miss something?" Nathan asks.

I look him over again. He looks nothing like my pops. I would've thought, I would've thought my dad would've gone for someone who wasn't, well, who wasn't like this. Someone who looks like my dad. This man doesn't though. He's skinny, scrawny. He's, well, he's average. I know both my dads are handsome, but this man, he's, he's not. I suppose his looks don't matter much though, because standing in front of me is the man that tore my family apart. He ruined us. The Hamilton house was a quaint and happy place. We were happy. We loved each other. Things are different now, and it's because of him.

"You," I growl.

"Pip," Aaron says with a warning in his voice.

"Do you know what you did?" I ask.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I quite know what you mean," Nathan says slowly.

"You, you ruined my fucking family!" I run my hand through my hair. "My parents were happy! They were happy! You ruined us! It's your fault! Did you not see the photos of our family lining the walls as you enter my house? Did you not think about the fact that you were sleeping with a man who had a husband and kid?"

"You're Phillip Hamilton," Nathan whispers.

"Yeah! And I wouldn't be here if your whoring self hadn't stepped into my fucking house! You ruined everything!" I'm close to tears.

"Phillip," Aaron snaps.

"No, he's right," Nathan says. "I did see the pictures, I did think about it."

"Obviously not enough!" I exclaim. "My pops knew my dad didn't love him that summer, he knew he wasn't enough! Do you know how heartbreaking that is? How scary it is to know that your whole life could be ruined? My dad could be his own fucking divorce lawyer thanks to you! You are a fucking homewrecker!"

"Your dad talked about you a lot," Nathan states, his face emotionless.

I pause. "What?"

Nathan swallows. "He talked about you a lot. He would always show me pictures. He loves you very much."

"And what about my pops? Huh? Did he ever talk about his husband? The one you were helping him cheat on?" I snap.

Nathan shakes his head. "No. He didn't need to. I know your dad didn't love me. I know, I know I was just a replacement. He would always play with his wedding ring, and the charm from your pops around his neck. I heard them FaceTiming. He loved your dad. I was just, I wasn't really anything actually."

"That doesn't fucking matter!" I yell. "What matters is that you slept with my father! You, you ruined my family! Saying you were nothing doesn't make it any better! The fact that you knew he loved my pops and you continued sleeping with him just makes it worse! My parents were in love. They were the only real love story I knew and you ruined it! You don't know the half of what you did! Fuck you! What the fuck are you even doing here?"

"Burr, he's my divorce lawyer," Nathan states quietly.

"Oh yeah, I forgot, because you were also cheating on your husband too!" I hit the table. "You know how much better my life would be right now if you didn't exist?"

"Phillip, you don't know the full story. Nathan made a mistake, but so did your father. This is not some childish feud you can have, Nathan is a victim, and you should be thankful he's not suing your dad," Aaron tells me.

I roll my eyes. "Gee, I'm sorry, Nathan, let me apologize to you."

"Aaron just let him get it out and keep Alex out of this. The kid deserves to have his father," Nathan states.

"Don't call me 'kid.' Ever." I grab my bag, throwing it across my back. "I'm more of a man than you'll ever be, because when I fuck someone, I know I'm not going to be the cause of someone else's heartbreak. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home to try to clean up the pieces of the mess you left. Aaron, thank you for letting me come over. Goodbye."

I quickly walk out of the house, pulling my earbuds from my pocket and angrily untangling them so I can listen to some music. I'm usually more of a seventies to eighties where-are-my-bell-bottoms kind of person, but I find myself turning on death metal when I'm mad, so as I walk down the streets of New York and through the park, I find myself feeling more and more amped and angry. I can't believe that was the guy who ruined my family. I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate him for what he said, I hate him for what he did. I hate him.

I arrive at my house and open the door, yanking my earbuds out as I step in and slam the door shut while my parents fight. I slam it loudly, so of course, they both look over at me. We're all angry, and I can tell. I don't care if they're fighting. They wanted me involved? Well, they got it because truthfully, the only thing I want to do is fight them right now.

"Phillip, don't slam the door," my pops snaps.

"Oh, fuck you," I spit, flipping him off.

"Language!" My dad exclaims.

I laugh out loud. "I can't believe both of you are actually trying to scold me for my temper right now! You have been fighting nonstop since the pamphlet was published! It is comical that you think you actually have a right to tell me to watch my fucking language."

"We are still your parents," my pops states.

"Oh, that's right," I growl sarcastically. "I forgot, great parents you've been of late."

"Things have been stressful, Phillip, and the attitude isn't helping right now. I don't know where this is coming from," my dad states.

My eyes widen and I laugh again. "You don't know where this is coming from? I'm sorry, I forgot I'm supposed to be good little fucking Pip! I'm not allowed to have the emotional breakdown, that's pops' job."

"Hey," my pops snaps.

"Also, thing's aren't 'stressful,' dad, you cheated on pops with some whore and then let us find out via internet!" I stomp my foot. "You can't stop acting like this is some petty argument that can be settled by a mature conversation! It is not up to pops to make things better, he doesn't have to do anything right now! You fucked up! This is your fault!"

"He's right," my pops states.

"Phillip, you are a child, you have no right to stick your nose into these adult matters," my dad states.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "That's where you're fucking wrong! This isn't 'adult matters,' this is my fucking family! Your fucking marital issues have everything to do with me because I'm your fucking child! I'm not some god damn toddler that you can brush off for work anymore! You can't just use that excuse! I've had a shit week and neither of you has barely fucking asked if I'm okay! The best comfort I got was fucking some kid I barely know in the locker room! You both are full of shit!"

"Go to your room," my dad snaps.

"You know what? Phillip is right," my pops states. "I'm done fighting with you tonight because honestly, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to look at you. I'm going to my room too. Fuck you, Alex."

I stomp upstairs with my pops behind me. He stops on the third floor, and I make my way up to my room, stepping in and quickly falling onto my bed, breaking into a sob. I kick off my shoes and get under the covers, burying my face in my pillow. It's Friday, so I'm supposed to go out with Georges tonight, but I think I'm just going to cancel. He'll understand I think. I hope so. I just gotta explain to him that I'm not ditching him for a guy, I just want to cry in my room for a few hours and then watch Netflix until I pass out. Even if I went out with him, I'd just be a huge buzzkill, and I don't want to ruin his Friday night.

Georges picks up after two rings. "Hey, Pip."

"Hey, uh, I don't think I can go out tonight," I mumble.

"Why? What's wrong?" Georges asks me.

I sigh. "I got into a really big fight with my parents. Shit's just, it's all so fucked right now, Georges. I don't have the emotional energy to go out tonight."

"Do you want to be alone?" Georges asks.

I groan. "No, but like, I don't want to get out of my bed either."

A door opens in the background of Georges' call. "Man, I wonder what someone could do about that. Hey, on an unrelated note, if I was going to go to that one weird vintage porn shop that also sells vinyl so they can let kids in, what kind of porn you think would cheer you up? I think they just got some vintage alien porn in, so if you were to watch any, what would you like?"

"Celine Dion lookalikes only," I state, smiling a little.

"On an even more unrelated note, I have to go for a little bit, but I'll be back," Georges states. "Kiss kiss Pip."

"Kiss kiss Georges," I mumble, hanging up. I get up and go to my vanity, washing my face of all my tears. I tie my hair up and change into a pair of grey sweatpants and a cropped metal band tee shirt that shows off my slim muscled stomach. I pick up a bit and make my bed, feeling tired but glad that Georges will be here soon.

A tapping on my window brings me from my thoughts and I open it, helping my tall shaky friend inside. He has a bag in his hand but that doesn't stop him from wrapping his arms around me. I fall back a bit, but he keeps me upright, hugging me tightly. I sigh as I lean my head against his chest. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist as he sits down on my bed, gently hugging me. He runs his hands over my hand, rocking me gently.

"Hey, Pippi," he whispers. "It's okay. It's okay. You're gonna be okay. You wanna talk about what happened?"

I groan. "No. I don't want to think about it. Can we just watch porn?"

Georges nods. "Yeah, of course, we can."

"Did you find Celine Dion lookalikes?" I ask as I grab my laptop and move off his lap.

He laughs a bit and pulls me close as he dumps the contents of the bag out on my bed. "I got some penis shaped gummy candies because they have those, and I also got you a book from the shop, and yes, I got your Celine Dion lookalike porn. It was really awkward to ask for that but they got it."

"What book did you get me?" I ask.

"It's called 'How To Make Love To A Negro Without Getting Tired.' I saw it and instantly thought of you," he states.

"Wow, charming," I mumble.

He hands the book to me. "Don't let the title fool you. It's about two francophiles living in the slums of France flirting with women. One of them is an English major and the other is claiming to be a philosopher. I think it's your type of thing."

"Okay, sounds good," I state. "Now, come on, let's watch some porn."

I open my laptop and put the DVD in it, then sit back, cuddled up to Georges. He holds me tightly as I watch the surprisingly similar Celine Dion lookalike walk on screen. She's totally naked, washing dishes. That's usually what I do when I'm home alone, so I don't think it's totally inaccurate. I'm pretty sure this is going to be a plumber or repairman trope.

"Sorry if I get a boner and it pokes into your leg," Georges mentions, watching as the repairman walks into the kitchen.

"You get boners from Celine Dion look-alikes?" I ask, laughing.

"Well, no. I get boners from the idea of sex in general," Georges tells me.

"I know, don't think I didn't notice your pained face as you held a pillow over your lap every other time we've done this," I state. "I'd suck you off, or fuck you, but you're a virgin and it's against my rules to fuck with virgins."

"I think you have too many rules," Georges states.

I shrug. "There's really not a lot. No virgins, I don't allow courtship, I never plan anything on Friday nights, I'm allowed to stop whenever I want to, and my fuck buddies aren't allowed to meet my parents. Peter is an obvious exception because his parents and my parents are friends. All of our parents are friends. You know what I mean."

"No virgins and no courtship," Georges says slowly. "Well, I'll just go fuck myself then."

"You're the courtship exception," I mumble.

"I am?" Georges places a hand over his chest. "I feel so special. Does that mean I'm also the exception when it comes to-"

"Nope. Your first time should be special," I state.

Georges pauses the porn, which had escalated very quickly. "Why wouldn't it be special with you? What makes you say that?"

I shrug. "You're talking to the guy who lost his virginity in the bed of a pickup truck to William Frazer at the beginning of sophomore year. I've slept with more people than my dad has argued with. Doing stuff with me, it's not special. It never had been and it never will be. I don't consider sex to be important or soul bonding or whatever. It's just, it's like fist bumping someone. It doesn't hold any emotional value to me. You deserve someone who will consider it special, who will be slow and caring. I've never had slow and caring sex. I've never really looked someone in the eyes and felt love. I know this sounds really weird, but, like, I've never made love. I've only gotten fucked. Believe me, there is a difference."

"Then, aren't you kinda a bit of a virgin too?" Georges asks, raising an eyebrow.

I snort. "Me? A virgin? Yeah, okay. I also shit jelly beans and David Bowie is my dad. Jesus, I thought the only person who would ever refer to me as a virgin was the pastor down at Trinity. Did you get hit on the head or something?"

Georges shrugs. "I just think there's still a little part of you that is a virgin because you've never felt love while having sex. You deserve that."

I roll my eyes.

"You do!" Georges insists. "Tell me, Phillip, have you ever been in love?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Never. Not once."

"Now, why is that?" He asks me, continuing the conversation.

I shrug. "Doesn't seem like my kind of thing. I'm too busy for it."

Georges sighs and hugs me a bit closer, playing the porn again. I laugh at it, pretending not to notice the semi-hard object poking my leg. Georges shifts a bit and then a small choked sound escapes his throat as he accidentally grinds against my leg. I smirk and adjust myself a bit, causing another sound to escape his throat.

"You, my dear sir, seem to be in quite a predicament," I tell him, laughing.

He groans. "Ugh, shut up."

Suddenly, I look back at the porn and the plumber or something is choking the woman, and begin to think about those dark bruises on my dad's neck. I don't want to think about parent sex, but at the same time, it does worry me. I don't think my dads would ever really get physical with each other, get into a fight, but like, I obviously don't know everything about them. I know my pops was an alcoholic with anger issues, I know my dad is not exactly the least fighting prone person in the world. What if they would get physical with each other? What if they would actually hurt each other? What would I even do? Would I get involved? What if they hurt me? Jesus, what the fuck is going on with my life?

My breathing begins to speed up and I quickly lean forward and pause the porn we're watching and sit back again, pulling my knees to my chest and swallowing hard. My chest begins to hurt a bit as I rock myself a bit. Georges is saying something, but ears seem to be ringing. I feel his arms around me and I begin crying. My body is wracked with sobs as I bury my face into Georges' chest. He's rocking me, running his fingers through my hair. I'm gripping his shirt, trying to calm down.

"Hey, hey Pip, shh, deep breathes." Georges hugs me tighter. "It's okay, shh."

"It's not okay!" I cry out. "My life is fucking falling apart! My heart hurts so bad and I just want my fathers to tell me they love me! To hug me! Something! I never hear them talk anymore unless they're yelling. I just want to be loved by my fucking dads! Why can't I just have my goddamn family for two fucking minutes!"

"Shh, shh, Phillip, hey, calm down," Georges whispers gently.

"Don't tell me to calm down," I snap. "You don't know shit about what's going on right now and I don't need you telling me how to feel and when to feel it."

"Hey," Georges says firmly. "Don't snap at me, don't curse at me. The shit you are going through is not an excuse to being a dick to the people who are there for you this late at night. You need to calm down because your breathing is too fast and you're going to pass out. Look at me, Phillip James Hamilton."

I stare down at my hands.

"Phillip," Georges says, warning in his voice.

My tear filled eyes make contact with his deep brown ones. His curly hair falls in front of his neutral looking face.

Georges gently places a hand on my cheek and presses a kiss to my forehead. "You don't deserve half the shit that's going on. I'm sorry this is happening. Regardless, please remember to not bite the hand that reaches out for you. You have plenty of people who are here for you, I promise. I know life is hard right now, but keep your friends close in times like these. You're my best friend, Phillip. I'm not going anywhere, as long as you don't either."

I sigh and lean against him. "I'm sorry."

He nods. "It's okay. Come on, let's go to sleep. You need it."

I groan as I stand up and turn out my light, then turn on the radio since Georges sleeps better with music playing. It's not my favorite thing to do since it always fucks with my dreams, but he can't really sleep without it so I just let myself get weird dreams so my Georges can sleep. He's much less grumpy when he has enough sleep.

"Mmf, Pip, can I tell you something?" Georges grumbles, his French accent shining through a bit as he becomes more tired. Take On Me by A-Ha plays quietly in the background and I almost want to shoot my radio.

"You can," I tell him, curling up against his body.

"I think you're beautiful and so very worthy of love," he whispers.

I was about to argue, but then I decided that I might as well accept his tired protest so he can eventually go to sleep. "Thank you, Georges. You are too."

"Goodnight, Phillip," Georges tells me, hugging me closer.

"Goodnight."


	11. People should be worried and Georges shouldn't be a prick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because I write the characters, doesn't mean I support their actions. No one in this story (besides the Burrs ironically) is perfect, including Phillip. I'm not trying to promote Phillip's actions, because frankly, some of them are not right in any way. Phillip is flawed, just like everyone else, so don't forget that.

/Phillip/

My science classroom is set up in a very nice way. The tables are tall and long, and only filling on half of the room since it's a double classroom. The teacher sits up front at his desk, barely checking on the class, so, if you're tired, you can sneak behind the back row and fall asleep on the floor. Granted, it's no five star hotel room, but as long as you wear a nice sweater and don't mind the white lights or the absence of a real pillow, the science teachers voice can lull you into a half away half-asleep trance where your body can rest for a little while and store enough energy to get you through the rest of your classes. I'm grateful that this is the class I'm in now because I'm exhausted and the fluorescent lighting and rough carpeting are actually not so bad. I have William keeping watch for me, ready to kick me if I need to get up or if class ends. He's a good friend like that.

Soon enough, the class does end and he helps me up, fixing my hair a bit and throwing his arm around me as we walk out of class. I lean against him a bit, still not yet recovered from my long and comforting nap.

"Will," I say, drawing out the letters in a high pitched whining tone. I lean against my locker, hooking my fingers in the waistline of his pants.

"Yes, baby boy?" Will replies, smiling as he moves closer to me, placing a hand behind my head and running his thumb over my bottom lip.

"Number one: My name is not 'baby boy,' it's Phillip." I take his hand and move it down to my ass. "Number two: What do you say you take me over to your place and we have a little fun after school, eh? I'm bored and I don't want to go home."

"You are so afraid of love and relationships," William states.

"That doesn't answer my question," I tell him, moving my hips against his a little bit.

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure. At least let me make you something to eat though? I feel bad for not offering you anything but a quick fuck."

"Nothing fancy. If you have to order it, then it's too fancy. Cold leftover pizza is the farthest I'll go." I press the tip of my finger against his chest to punctuate my sentence.

"How about spicy bowl ramen that you put hot water in?" William teases. "Is that too fancy for the great Phillip Hamilton?"

I smile, planting a small kiss on his lips. "Sounds good."

William leans down for another kiss, which I gladly accept. It's not loving, it's not caring, it's filled with lust and desire, which is the only thing I want people to have for me. I almost forget we're in the hallway, but then I hear someone clear their throat. I break away from Will to see Georges standing there awkwardly with his English notebook in his hand.

"See you later, Will. Is Eaker gonna be home?" I ask.

Will nods. "Yeah. You looking for more weed?"

I shrug. "Maybe. Maybe I'm just lookin' for Eaker. Anyway, get to class you fool. We got things to do. People to see."

He nods and takes off while I open my locker and grab my things, Georges still waiting for me. I grab my notebook and then begin walking to class with Georges by my side. He links his arm with mine but doesn't say anything, which isn't uncommon for him per se, but usually, he'll at least be singing a bit or something, but I'm getting nothing but radio silence from him today, and it's boring.

"Ugh, Georges, talk to me," I whine, leaning against him a bit.

"What do you want me to say?" He asks me, his voice almost monotone.

"Something, anything. You're being quiet and it's making me antsy," I inform him as we walk into the classroom. "Is something wrong?"

He shrugs. "No, not really. Just worried about you, you know, the usual."

I groan loudly and sit on his desk. "Well stop it, I'm fine. You, my dearest, Georges, need to learn how to have a little fun. Just, loosen up. We're only in high school once. I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine."

"Are you fine though? Because when you were talking about Eaker, the guy who is twenty-one, five years older than you, you had that look in your eyes, and don't say you don't know what I'm talking about because I'm your best friend and I know exactly what I'm talking about. Now, are you gonna honestly tell me what your plans are with that adult?"

I roll my eyes. "Leave me alone, Georges. I'm doing the best I can for myself right now, and if that means I spend a little time with my drug dealer, then that's what it means. I don't need to tell you what my plans are, because honestly? That's private. I don't need you telling me how to live my life when I'm not sure you would be doing much better if you were in my situation. I am fine. I am doing my damn best. Thank you for your concern, but respectively, drop it."

"Pip, you can't just go around and let people do whatever they want to you," Georges argues. "This has to stop. Do you even think about how this could be affecting you emotionally? Don't you want to actually deal with your feelings instead of bottling them up and then releasing them as you ride some other guys dick-"

"You shut your mouth right now Georges Washington De Mulligan Lafayette," I snap, standing up. "We may be friends but what I chose to do in my free time is none of your fucking concern! Don't tell me how to handle my emotions, don't tell me how to deal with my fucking stress! I can do whatever the fuck I please right now and I've had enough shit go wrong. I'm sick of always having to fight people! It seems that's all that's going on right now! I don't need you telling me what I'm doing is wrong, or that I should stop because truthfully, I see no reason to!"

"Phillip, don't you want to be better than your dad?" Georges asks.

"Don't you say a fucking word about my father!" I smack my hand on Georges desk and get close to his face. "He may have done wrong but that is no excuse for you to say that! I swear, if you were anyone else, I would've knocked you on your ass! Fuck you! You don't know fucking shit about how I feel and there's a damn reason for that. So with all fucking respect, I'm going to sit somewhere else today."

I grab my notebook and storm over to an empty desk in the back, which usually remains empty. Georges calls my name but I ignore it. Instead, I just brood in the back of the class, ignoring Georges texts. I go to my next class after that, and then finally end up at my locker, William waiting for me outside by his motorcycle.

"Hey, you look mad," Theo states, walking over to me. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah, Georges fucking happened," I grumble.

"I swear to..." Theo trails off. "What did he say?"

"He butts into my life, saying I can't just deal with my emotions by having sex," I grumble. "He thinks I don't know that? Right now though, it's the only fucking thing that just lets me forget what is going on. It's the only thing that makes me feel fucking okay. My parents fight all the time, my life is turning to shit, and this is the one thing I still have."

"Pip, I'm so sorry he said that," Theo mumbles, placing her hand gently on my shoulder.

"You know what else he said?" I snap, looking at her and putting my circle glasses on so she can't see my watering eyes. "He said I should be better than my dad. What the fuck does that mean? I know he fucked up, but God, he's still my fucking father. I still fucking love him. I just, God, Georges is my best friend, why does he have to be such an asshole?"

Theo hugs me and I hug her back, letting myself cry a little bit. He gently runs her hands over my hair, holding me softly. I've always loved Theo's hugs because, well, she's one of the only people who doesn't seem like she wants something from me when we hug. She's just holding me, protecting me, because I'm her friend.

"Honey, I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's okay. It's okay. You're okay. Hey, hey." She takes my face in her hands and kisses my forehead. "We're gonna have a spa day. A real one. Not just us painting our toenails and gossiping. We're gonna go to a spa and get massages and manicures and pedicures and stupid mud baths and facials and we're gonna sit in a steam room and drink stupid cucumber water."

"That sounds expensive," I mumble.

"My moms a professor at Columbia and my dad is a lawyer, one of the greatest lawyers in New York, and both of them love you, I'm sure I can get them to splurge on a spa day for us. You also have no choice in the matter. I want to see my little Pip smiling, so like it or not, we're gonna drink some stupid drink and sit in a dumb steam room naked with your idiot lesbian best friend, a'ight?" Theo raises her eyebrows.

"A'ight," I mutter quietly.

"What's what?" She asks.

"A'ight," I repeat a bit louder.

"Still can't hear you," she laughs.

I roll my eyes and smile, leaning against her a bit. "A'ight! A'ight!"

"There we go!" She cheers. "Now, I'll walk you to wherever you're headed."

"Just outside to William's bike," I inform her as we begin walking.

She nods. "Tell Eaker I said hello. Be safe, okay kid? I don't need you getting banged up or anything. Just, don't be afraid to call me if you need a ride anywhere, yeah?"

"Yeah," I nod, leaning against her as we walk out of the school.

William is leaning against his bike, staring at his phone. Theo kisses me on the cheek and bids me adieu, then I walk over to where William is, leaning against him and planting a long kiss on his lips. I pull away for a second, only to see Georges out of the corner of the corner of my eye, obviously looking. So, I lean back in for another kiss, snaking my hand between William's legs and deepening the kiss even more.

"Whoo! Get it, Will!" Someone shouts.

I giggle a bit. "Come on, baby, let's go back to your place. Maybe I'll let you eat something else, eh?"

William gasps a bit and hands me his helmet. "Phillip, have I ever told you how cool you are? Like how seriously cool you are?"

I smile and hop on his bike. "I believe so, but don't let that stop you from telling me again though. Now let's get a move on, I'm horny and you are as well, very obviously."

William gets on and starts his bike. "Hold on, Pip, I'm gonna be going a bit fast."

I wrap my arms around him and he speeds off. I glance back at Georges, and we make direct eye contact, but it's quickly broken when I look away, leaning my head against William's back as he makes his way onto the road. He doesn't have a helmet on, because he only has one and he always insists that I wear it because 'I have quite a good head on my shoulders, and it shouldn't get harmed.' I feel better when I do wear a helmet though because as much as I am a bit of a daredevil, I never have wanted to actually die.

We get to his apartment and I can hear Eaker in the shower. I ignore it through, instantly kissing William and letting him pick me up, carrying me to his room. He drops me on the best and we both quickly rip off our clothes. It's not too long before we're both totally naked, yet not fucking, but very intense dry humping.

A knock in the doorway startles us and we look up to see Eaker in nothing but a towel casual looking in on us, as if we were playing checkers or something. Will seems a little shocked, but since Eaker has seen me spread eagle, covered in come, and very hard, I don't mind. In that one moment where he did see that, he didn't make a big deal out of it, simply asked if I wanted pizza. He's easy to be around.

"Hey, I call Pip when you're done," Eaker states.

"I am not property to be claimed, but yes I'll be there," I reply.

"Sweet," Eaker mumbles.

"You fuckin' Eaker?" William asks me, sitting up and grabbing a condom.

I raise an eyebrow as I run my thumb across the tip of my dick, then gently drag my pointer finger down the top side of it, shivering at the feeling. "Problem?"

He shrugs, pushing my knees up against my chest so to get a better angle at me. "No, I've just never seen you with a white guy. Didn't think they were your type, that and he's an adult."

I groan lightly as he rubs his dick against me. "I don't have a type, and it's whatever. Now come on, we're not making small talk, we're fucking."

William smiles and pushes into me, bringing a loud moan from my mouth. He begins thrusting into me and then continues like that. It's not slow paced, and it doesn't really give me time to adjust, though I don't need it, it's nice. It's a good distraction. I'm not thinking about Georges or anyone else, just William and the feeling in my body. I hold onto him tightly, letting him pound into me, hurting me almost, but in a good way. I would not consider myself a masochist, because truthfully, I never liked pain all too much, but a sharp smack of the ass or a quickly paced thrust never bothered me.

Soon, I finish, then I let William continue fucking me onto he finishes. It feels good, to keep going even after you finished. I always liked the way it stung and was almost too much. William is really good at sex, and he has been one of my favorites. I'm looking forward to Eaker, though, because he is, well, he's obviously very experienced.

"Wow," William mutters as he rolls off of me. "Jesus Pip, every time you leave me astonished. How do you do that?"

I shrug, sitting up and fixing my hair. "I just, I dunno, I've been doing this for a while. I got a bit more of a stalling period until I get hard again for Eaker, so, you wanna talk about anything? You know, like something normal?"

"Did someone bad touch you as a kid or something?" He questions.

I crease my eyebrows. "What the fuck? No! Where does that even come from?"

He shrugs, sitting up. "I'm trying to figure out why you're so afraid of like, falling in love and doing all that romance bullshit. You don't even let me call you some pet names because they're 'too romantic' or some shit. Have you ever dated someone?"

I shrug. "Just wasn't for me."

William chuckles and lies back down. "Okay, tell me this, if you were gonna date someone, who would it be?"

A long sigh comes from me. "Why are you suddenly so interested in my love life? Hm? What's that all about?"

"Just curious," Will answers.

"Well, pick another topic," I tell him.

"Okay, okay," he laughs. "What do you want to do when you graduate?"

I smile a bit, leaning back. "I wanna work for an art magazine, get out of New York. Maybe somewhere out west."

"You wanna leave this place to the cockroaches and rats? Go live out west in Santa Fe?" William chuckles. "I swear, it's like you're straight out of a musical or something. Tell me, Jack Kelly, do you like to paint places you've never seen?"

"Laugh all you want, I don't care, but at least I'm trying to get out of this place," I point out.

"Why you hatin' on New York?" He asks.

I shrug. "It's too much. I wanna know what fresh air smells like, what a nice rainy day has to offer when it's not mugged up by millions of people."

William laughs. "Go on, I'm sure with a little effort you can fuck Eaker now. Have fun, Pip. Keep yourself close, I like having you around."

"I know," I laugh, getting out of his bed totally naked. "If you really liked me though you'd fold up my clothes."

"I got it," he mumbles, chuckling to himself.

I make my way through the small living room and into the office, which was converted into Eaker's room since he insisted William got the bigger bedroom. Inside, Eaker sits on his bed, scrolling on his phone with just some boxers on. I lean against his doorway, rubbing myself gently, letting my hair fall in front of my face. I clear my throat and he looks up, his eyes wide.

"Hiya, Eaker," I say, smiling.

"Fuck, Pip, your body," he mutters. "It's gorgeous."

"I don't like courtship," I tell him, walking over to his bed.

He grabs my hand and pulls me on top of him. Instead of saying anything, he just pulls me in for a kiss, his hands going straight to my ass. I feel myself getting hard as his dick begins to press into me. I pull off his boxers and toss them to the floor. I reach over and grab a condom off of his nightstand, ready to just hop right on.

"Oh!" I say in surprise when he pushes a finger into me.

"Are you good?" He asks.

I nod, laughing. "You really don't need to do that."

He smirks. "Okay, then prove it."

I sit up and roll the condom onto him, then slowly lower myself down, listening to his grunts. For the first couple of seconds, I'm fine, and he's just like every other dick I'd ridden, but then I realize how thick he is. He is not the longest, but holy shit, wow, okay.

"Ah!" I cry out as I go down a little farther.

"You good?" He asks.

I nod. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."

I finish lowering myself down onto him then begin riding him. I gotta admit, him being older is kinda nice. High school boys, no matter how many times they've fucked, are still just that, high school boys. Eaker, though? His body is muscled, he's shaved, he has a tattoo running down his chest that is nice to look at. He's strong, and damn, he really knows how to treat me. Fuck, he's good.

We both finish relatively the same time, and when we're done, I grab his laptop, opening a new tab and going to the Planned Parenthood website. I sign into my account and start to make an appointment in about an hour. 

Eaker at first doesn't know what I'm doing, but then he lies on top of me. "Ain't Planned Parenthood, like, a women's thing?"

"They do have a lot of female services, but I go there to get tested because they're very welcoming. I've been going since I first started fucking around," I explain. "Theo and I usually accompany each other during our appointments, but I think I'll just call my dads friend, Lafayette, to take me this time."

Eaker nods. "You are very responsible for your age, you know that?"

"I've been told I have an old soul," I mumble, confirming my appointment for four thirty. It's three thirty now, so I have about forty-five minutes to kill until I should call Lafayette. I know I'm mad at Georges, but I'm not mad at his parents, and from what I heard from my dad once, Lafayette wasn't exactly, well, monogamous.

"We should watch a show. I'll go turn on something. What do you want to watch?" Eaker asks. "I have a lot of old shows. Would Twilight Zone be cool?"

I nod.

Eaker gets up, slipping some clothes back on. He walks into the living room and tells William that we're all gonna watch Twilight Zone. I finish setting up my appointment and sign out of my account, then make my way back into Will's room so I can get my clothes on. I grab my phone and see the confirmation text from Planned Parenthood. I confirm it and then go sit on the couch between Eaker and William. For a little bit, it's just the sound of the show and our breathing. William has his arm around me, and Eaker has his hand on my thigh. Thinking about the fact that I fucked both of them in the last hour is enough to make me laugh.

"What's so funny?" William asks as I cover my mouth with my hand, laughing even harder as the thought becomes funnier.

"I've fucked both of you in the span of an hour," I choke out, tears coming to my eyes as I begin to laugh harder. "Fuck, that's just, man that's a wild thought."

"Phillip, you are one of the weirdest people I've ever been with," Eaker laughs, pushing me a bit. "Worth it for sure though."

William nods wide eyes. "I know right? Phillip is like, wow. Once you've been with Phillip, everyone else is just, boring."

I roll my eyes. "Pause the show, I gotta ask my dad's friend to pick me up."

"I gotcha," William states.

The show is paused and I dial Laf's number. It rings three times, and then the older French man picks up, sounding normal.

"Hey, Phillip, what's cracking?" He asks, his accent being fairly more obvious than Georges' accent. It's because Lafayette spent more time in France.

"Hey, Laf, I have an appointment at the doctors, can you come to pick me up from a friends house and take me? I'm sure my dads are either fighting or fucking, so I'm not gonna disturb them," I explain casually.

"Yes, of course, Pip, which place you need to go?" Laf asks.

"Uh, the Planned Parenthood on the corner of Bleeker and Mott," I say, almost mumbling. I've never really talked to Laf about anything like this.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Where are you at right now?" He asks.

"Apartment building 4J in the East Village, the appointment is in thirty minutes," I inform him, trying to ignore Eaker gently rubbing the front of my jeans.

"East village? What are you doing in those apartments? J4? Hold on, isn't that right near that old D & D junkyard where all the kids go to get high? Phillip are you high?" Lafayette asks me, talking very fast and partially in French.

"No, no I'm not. I'm just hanging with a few friends who live down here. Didn't you meet William during homecoming this year? Remember, he was my date?" I ask, trying to pick the French man's brain so he remembers the boy who I slept with not too long ago.

Laf pauses for a moment. "Oooh, okay. Sorry. Okay, I'll be there soon."

"Ight, thanks," I mumble.

"See you soon," Laf states, hanging up.

"You are weird," Eaker states.

"Jesus, first William wants to know if someone bad touched me as a kid because I don't like relationships, then you are calling me weird for, for what reason again? I came here to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now," I defend, laughing a bit.

"Aw, you know we tolerate you, Pip," William states, smiling.

I sit back a bit, throwing my leg over Eaker's and smiling. "If I didn't fuck you so much I wonder what the story would be."

"Hey!" Eaker exclaims. "I liked you before we fucked!"

I look at him, my eyebrow raised. "I also walked around your apartment naked, so you could've just been getting off on the image of my ass, but who knows."

"Aw, Pip, you know you're not just sex on legs for us," Eaker states.

I raise an eyebrow. "Do I?"

"Yes, you do," William responds.

"Whatever guys. My friend should be here soon, so I'm gonna get my stuff," I tell them, standing up. They both smack my ass as I walk by, headed into William's room where my backpack is. I open it, then get m wallet and check to make sure my insurance cards are still in there, as well as my ID and some cash. I always am prepared to go to the doctor's office. The way I see it, anything could happen at any time, so it's best to be prepared.

I walk back out into the living room just in time to get a test from Lafayette, saying he's outside. I kiss William and Eaker goodbye, then go outside to see Lafayette's French model Alpine waiting for me. I get into the passenger's seat and sit back, relaxing a bit.

"Salut, enfant, how was school?" He asks as he begins driving.

"Shitty," I mutter, closing my eyes.

"Shitty..." Laf trails off. "This wouldn't have anything to do with my son, would it?"

I groan. "He's your son, I don't want to say anything about him, but yeah it kinda does."

"What did he do?" Lafayette asks me.

"He just." I sigh. "I'm not exactly the most, well, the most monogamous person. That's why I'm going to Planned Parenthood, just to get checked and stuff. Anyway, Georges knows that, and he just, he always judges me for it. He always makes me feel like shit for it, and then today, he said I should be better than my dad. What the fuck does that mean? I know my dad messed up, I'm not trying to justify that, but he's still my dad, and I love him more than anything. I just, I don't know, I'm just sick of feeling like I don't meet his goddamn standards. If he really doesn't like what I do that much, then he should just leave. I don't need him making me feel any worse than I already do right now."

"He has no right to say those things, I'm gonna talk to him," Lafayette states. "And as for your lack of abstinence, there's nothing wrong with that, as long as you are safe. I was very young when I started having sex, and honestly, I was fine. It's how I met Herc, truthfully. Well, it's how we stayed close. Phillip, I believe you are trying your hardest right now, and I'm sorry all of this is going on, but if you ever just need to have an afternoon out or something, don't be afraid to call me or text me. The Lafayette family will always be here for you."

I sniffle and nod, taking off my sunglasses and wiping my eyes. "Thank you. Shit has just been so difficult at home, I just, I want it to stop. I just want to have a break, relax, but, it doesn't stop. My parents keep fighting and fighting. It's not just my dad who's fighting, my pops is fighting with him just as much, even more. It's all so fucked. I'm just, I'm so tired of this."

Laf gently reaches over and places his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I know what that's like. It's gonna be okay though, I promise. No matter what happens, you'll always have your family. I wish I could tell you what is going to happen, but I haven't spoken to your dad, and your pops hasn't had time to talk to me. You can always stay with us though, I promise."

I wipe a few more tears that had slipped down my cheeks and nod. "Thank you."

Lafayette pulls into the parking lot and we both get out, heading into the building. He sits down, admiring the very nice pictures of gay couples that the Planned Parenthood have put up, and I go to the front desk, waiting behind a girl who looks maybe thirty.

"Hi, Phillip Hamilton for a testing?" I state, pulling my wallet out of my pocket.

"Hi, Phillip, can I see your insurance cards?" The woman at the front desk, Sarah, asks.

I nod and hand her m insurance cards. She enters them into the machine and then hands them back to me, telling me that the doctor should be out any moment. I nod and sit down next to Laf leaning back and crossing my legs as I wait. I've been here enough to where most of the people know me. The doctor I usually see, Doctor Baptiste, is a kind woman who always smiles. I feel very comfortable around her, and around anyone here, because they don't judge. As a scared fifteen-year-old here for my first testing, I was nervous, but I quickly calmed down when I realized that no one here was going to judge me.

"Phillip?" Doctor Baptiste calls out.

I stand up and walk into the back area. The first place that Doctor Baptiste leads me to is the bathroom. When I get tested for STDs, I usually just like to get tested for everything, so the doctors go all out, doing every test there is. The first one, of course, is a piss test. I'm grateful I have a dick in times like these, because Theo got a piss test once because she was having abdominal pain, later diagnosed as endometriosis, and she said she peed all over her hand.

"You know what to do," Baptiste, tells me, smiling.

"Pee in the container, write my initials on it, leave it in there and a nurse will collect it," I answer, finger gunning. I step into the bathroom and grab a small cup, unscrewing the lid and standing over the toilet. I pee, aiming quite well, and then finish up, writing my initials on the now sealed container and leaving it on the shelf. I step out of the bathroom and make my way to Doctor Baptiste's office. She hands me a gown thing to put on and then leaves as I get undressed. When I finish, I sit on the table and she comes back in.

"Okay, Phillip, you know the drill. We're gonna do a cheek swab, a blood test, and then a physical exam. I'm guessing you're still having intercourse pretty regularly?" Doctor Baptiste gets out the cheek swab thing and the container.

I nod. "The usual, I always use protection though, but it still helps to get checked."

Doctor Baptiste nods. "It does. Say ah."

I open my mouth, letting her swab the inside of my cheek. I sit back and take a deep breath as she bags the swabber thing and then begins preparing the needle to draw my blood. I can handle needles, it just freaks me out a bit.

"How is school going?" She asks as she wipes an alcohol wipe on my arm.

I shrug. "Not too bad. Boring, tiring, the usual. I'm grateful next year is my last year."

"Do you know where you want to go to college?" She asks me as she pushes the needle into my skin.

I nod, sucking in a breath. "Yeah, Amsterdam University in the Netherlands."

"Oh, wow, that's far away from New York," she states.

I nod. "Yeah, I don't want to stay here for college. It was a wonderful place to grow up in, but I wanna live somewhere else. Maybe Oregon, or California."

"Well, that sounds very nice," Doctor Baptiste states as she pulls the needle out and bags up the blood sample. "Last but not least, physical examination. Put your feet up right here and lean back."

I follow her instruction, leaning back and placing m feet up, pulling the grown up so she can examine me. When I first did this, it was pretty awkward. I was nervous, but now, it's like getting my blood pressure taken. It's just a medical examination, nothing more, so it's really easy to just relax as she checks me out, making sure I don't have anything bad going on.

"Okay, you're done," she states.

I sit up and pull my gown down. "How do I look?"

She nods. "Clean as ever, at least from what I can tell. We'll get your lab results back in a few days and give you a call. I'll let you get dressed. You can check out and get your lollipop at the front desk. Take some condoms."

I nod, smiling as she leaves. I take the gown off and lay it on the bed and then get my clothes back on. I go over to the counter and get a small brown paper bag, filling in with a handful of condoms. I've never really run out, and that's thanks to Planned Parenthood. I walk out of the room and to the front desk, taking a lollipop and checking out. Sarah waves to me and I motion to Lafayette that we can go and he stands up, stretching.

"How did that go?" He asks me.

"Good," I state. "Doctor said I looked clean, and I'm getting my test results back in a few days. Restocked on condoms too, so that's good."

"Jesus, you are so much more responsible than your parents," Laf states.

"I am?" I question skeptically.

He nods. "Honestly, I don't think they've ever been checked, but they were each other's firsts, so there's that, think about this though, maybe both of them should get checked because Alex did, well, you know. Just, you are much more responsible than they were when they were in college."

I smile. "Thanks. Can you just drop me off at home?"

Lafayette nods. "Yeah, of course."

The rest of the drive is filled with music. When we finally get to my house, I say goodbye and thank him for the ride, then step inside. My dads can be heard upstairs, fighting, probably in the bedroom, so instead of staying inside, I make my way into the backyard, sitting at one of our patio tables and pulling out my laptop. It's not cold outside yet, so I find it pleasant as I watch Youtube, sighing gently and hoping that they stop fighting soon, but being grateful that I can at least head into the kitchen to get some food.


	12. Angelica strikes back (and strikes Alex)

/Alex/

I step out of my car, tired, a travel mug of coffee in my hand. Bags rest under my eyes due to a long night of fighting with John. I really don't know what he's trying to accomplish anymore, but I suppose nine years of lies is a lot of anger. I just wish he would be a bit more considerate of our child. At least I have something to look forward to though. Angelica comes back today from London. I don't know if she's heard about the whole affair, because she doesn't do a very good job at contacting anyone but her sisters when she's away, but maybe she'll understand, or just not yet know.

"Alexander!" I hear her voice say happily.

Honestly, that's the first time someone has said my name happily in a while, so I turn to her with a smile on my face. "Angelica, it's good to see your face."

She approaches me, still smiling. "Alex, honey, is this company property, this parking lot?"

I shake my head. "No, we own the building, not the parking lot, the city owns that."

Her smile widens as she sets her briefcase down. "Good, then I won't get fired for what I'm about to do."

The slap comes quicker than I expected. I fall back a bit, catching myself on the hood of my car. My cheek stings and I can feel a cut forming where her wedding ring hit me. I groan loudly and regain my posture, looking at her. "What the fuck, Angie?"

"Don't you 'Angie' me you lying piece of shit!" She yells. "You think this whole thing is some kind of joke? You think this will pass by and be over any time soon?" She pushes me hard. "This is going to follow your son around for the rest of his life! What about John? Did you even think about him? Did you even stop for a god damn moment to think about what this would do to him?"

"I thought, when you came back, you'd be the one person who would understand what I'm struggling here to do," I mumble, staring at her with wide eyes.

She laughs. "I'm not here for you. I knew you like I knew my own mind, I thought I would never find anyone as trusting or as kind! I loved you more than a lot of things in this life and I would've chosen your happiness over mine every time! You can consider what we had to be over, I'm standing at John's side. You will never be satisfied, god, I hope you're satisfied!"

"Angelica," I whisper.

"You're never going to run this company, you threw your chance away, and honestly, I'm glad your competition is out of the way because that means I have one less thing to worry about!" Angelica laughs.

"By publishing that, I proved I was not a liar!" I spit.

She pushes me again. "By publishing that you proved that the only thing you do is lie! You just don't fucking get it, do you? This isn't about some fucking money scandal, honestly, you probably would've gotten off easier if you just embezzled funds, but this? What you did; Do you even know what Eliza told me when she called me to tell me what happened? She told me John married an Icarus, and he had flown too close to the sun. You don't understand, that you broke everyone's hearts. Your relationship was fucking perfect, you were the ideal love story! God dammit, you and John had an amazing life together, you have a child you both worked hard to raise, and from what Lafayette has told me, you haven't been doing a very good job at keeping up with that. Alexander, I once considered you my best friend, the one man I could always rely on. Now, now I'm ashamed to be seen with you. So with all due respect, I'm going to go do my fucking job, and no, I will not be cheating on my husband while doing so, thank you very much." She picks up her briefcase and makes her way inside. "Good day."

I sigh and run my hand over my face, wiping some blood across my cheek. I just wanted to go home at this point, but I knew being alone with my thoughts all day wouldn't help, so I entered the building and made my way upstairs to my office, then to the men's restroom to wash my face off.

"What happened to you?" Jefferson asks slyly, stepping out of a stall as I press a wet paper towel to my cheek.

"Angelica is back," I mutter.

"And she hit you?" He questions, looking almost surprised.

I nod.

"Go her," he chuckles, washing his hands.

"Fuck you," I mutter.

"Hey, at least I didn't publicly humiliate my husband and then forget to let my child eat. Say what you want, Hamilton, but I don't think you can one-up me," Jefferson points out, leaving the bathroom.

I grown and briefly consider slamming my head against the mirror, but then decide against it. I step out of the men's bathroom and go back to my office, where I see three people on the bench outside of it. Lafayette is staring through his office window at them annoyed, and obviously not in the mood to talk to anyone, but that doesn't stop me from quietly and humbly entering his office and approaching him, ignoring his sharp glare. He stands up and meets me halfway, trying to intimidate me or something.

"What is this? A meeting with the people who have grievances with me or something?" I ask, trying to be funny almost as I gesture out to the people.

Lafayette laughs. "That line would be much longer, and I would be at the front of it. No, apparently after you cheated on your husband and then publish it for the world to see, you got people to overlook the fact that you are a bastard in your home life, and think 'at least he's honest with his job.' Those are clients."

"Don't, don't call me a bastard," I mutter.

"Why not?" Lafayette pouts. "Scared that your actions may have consequences? You're a bastard and that's all you'll ever be."

I grab Laf by his shirt and slam him against his desk, holding him there and standing on my tip toes so I can almost meet his eyes. "Listen here, you son of a bitch, what I did was wrong, and I'm not denying that, but before you go around insulting me for something I couldn't control, maybe take a deep breath and realize there are plenty of fucked up and easily targeted things about me, so keep my illegitimacy out of it, oui, Gilbert?"

"Get your hands off me," Lafayette growls.

I push again and then let go, turning out of his office and into the hall, pushing my sleeves up a bit and getting ready to talk to people. "Okay, I'll see you one at a time."

Four hours. Four new cases. Two divorces, one on the job injury, and one case of fraud. My eyes are blurry and honestly, I'm exhausted. I'm glad it's my lunch break though, and then I will just have a few more hours until I can head out to my car and take a long nap before heading home and getting a good night of restless sleeping and nervous puking. If this were any other day, I would call John and lie my head down on my desk and let him tell me about his day so far. Unfortunately, though, I threw away that shot, for now, so I'll just, well, what will I do? The coffee I guess, that seems like the only good option at the moment.

I stand up and grab my thick wool blazer to protect me against the brisk fall air, then make my way out of my office, my head down. I walk out of the building and down the street to one of my favorite coffee places. I step in and relax as I make my way up to the counter where the waitress stands. It's slow, so there's no line. I notice she's wearing a Columbia sweatshirt, so I decide to make a bit of conversation.

"Columbia?" I ask, smiling a bit.

She nods. "Yeah, it' a great school, I got a full ride."

"Hey, me too, well, obviously it's been a while since I studied there." I chuckle a bit. "What are you taking?"

"Law, with professor Baptiste, you know him?" She asks.

I laugh. "Man, I'm really old. I knew the guy before him. They were both my professors. I work for the guy he replaced."

She smiles. "Well, it's a wonderful college. May I take your order?"

I nod. "Sixteen-ounce black coffee, double red eye."

"Okay, I'll have that right out for you, sir," she tells me. I nod and sit down, leaning back and watching out the window as people walk through the crowded streets of New York. I remember my second year of college, I was still new to these streets, and I would still sometimes get lost. John and I, we once got so lost and eventually, it started to rain. We hid under an awning and danced to the sound of the pitter patter on the roof. It was nice.

John is still wearing his wedding ring. I don't know what that means truthfully. I can't tell if he thinks things are going to get better again, or if he's just so used to it being on that he hasn't decided to take it off yet. I feel like he does know it's though, and he does think about taking it off, because when he fights, often times, his hand is twisting around the ring, messing with it. I have never taken mine off. I've never even thought about it. I am still John's husband, and that will stay the same until he decides otherwise. Even now, even as we fight and argue and curse and yell and scream, I'm still so deeply and utterly in love with him. 

I still do all the little things I used to do. I still make sure we don't run out of coffee creamer, I still make sure we keep his favorite kind of granola bar, which is cashew and date, in stock. I still make sure I turn on the fan after I get out of the shower in the morning, and I still write him reminders in whiteboard marker on the mirror. I just make sure he remembers little things, like appointments and stuff like that. Even when he doesn't have appointments, I'll just remind him to drink enough water or eat enough or stay warm. Even if I can't do much for him right now, I want to do the best I can, for him, for this family.

I feel bad because I know Phillip has been a little neglected, or a lot neglected. Over the weekend, I talked to him maybe twice. He seemed very tired and worn out though, so he spent most of his time in his room, only coming out really to get food. John was the same, so I ended up cooking, or trying to cook, mass amounts of vegan food so they wouldn't run out of stuff to eat. The first day was fine, but I was too tired the next day so I went out and bought Thai food and vegan pizza for them, just so they were eating enough. Other than that though, I was in my office working or sleeping. I used to love that my office was right next to the bedroom because it would mean I can hear John singing as he folds our laundry. I hate it now because if I don't put on my headphones, the only thing I can hear is John crying.

"Here's your coffee sir," the waitress says, setting down my large paper cup with the plastic lid over it. I smile and stand up, walking out of the shop. I make my way down the street, the warm coffee burning my hand a bit until finally, I get back to my office. I sit at my desk and sigh, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. Any time I've ever had a problem, I've talked to Washington about it. Even when I was in the wrong, he still helped me through. Does that still apply to this situation? Can he still stand to talk to me after what I did? There's only one way to know for sure, and I guess I'll have to swallow my pride and figure it out.

"Sir," I say, knocking quietly on his doorframe.

He's sitting at his desk, some papers in front of him and his head in his hands. He looks up at me, grimacing almost, but then regaining his emotionless posture. "Alexander, come in."

"Can we confer, sir?" I ask.

"Is this a legal matter?" Washington pushes, obviously suspicious of my actions.

"No, but it's important to me," I explain.

He sits back and sighs. "What do you need?"

"You're a better father than me," I state.

"Okay," Washington mutters. "I knew that. Answer the question though, what do you need? I don't have time for you to kiss up right now, I'm dealing with the consequences of your actions, and I don't need you reminding me why I only got four hours of sleep last night."

"What do you mean?" I ask, now curious.

"Well, since you let it slip to the world that you cheated on your husband, some clients are now wondering if you lied on their documents and papers like you lied to your husband, so now I have to go through all those papers and compare them to the court verdict, as well as other lawyers notes. I've fact checked about fifteen cases, and I have twenty-three to go." Washington seems irritated. "So let us speed up this meeting."

"I didn't lie on the papers. The whole point of what I published was to prove that I was loyal to my job," I defend.

Washington laughs. "That doesn't matter. You lied to your husband effortlessly, and while that may make you an amazing lawyer, it also makes you a terrible lawyer. So now I am going through thirty-eight cases to make sure that John was not the only person you cheated. Now Mr. Hamilton," Washington's voice raises and his eyes narrow. "Please tell me the purpose of this meeting."

I jump back into my seat, my eyes wide. "Nothing, sir, never mind. I'm sorry." I stand up, ready to make my way out of his office and back to mine. "I'll just go."

Washington sighs. "Sit down, Hamilton. You obviously had a reason to come here, and I do not wish a slightly different tone of voice to be the reason you leave. Now tell me the purpose of this meeting."

I slowly sit back down, sighing. "I feel bad."

"Well, I would hope so," Washington remarks.

I groan. "I know there's not a lot I can do to help my whole situation with John, but, my son, he's getting neglected for no reason other than the fact that his parents are being total asswipes. Do you, could you give me advice on how to apologize to my son? For everything?"

Washington leans back, folding his hands together and thinking. "I have two things to say. Firstly, yes, I do think I could give you advice on how to apologize to your son. What do you two share in common? He is your kin, so there must be something."

"We write," I state. "He's more of a poet, but, we write."

"Then write with him. You don't have to talk, just sit with him and write. He is most likely mad at you for plenty of reasons, so a calming quiet activity that keeps both of you in your comfort zone." Washington takes a deep breath. "Truthfully, Hamilton, speaking is not your friend right now. You were very wrong in your actions, and you have no excuse-"

I cut him off. "But-"

"None," he growls. "You need to spend time with your son, prove to him that you are still his father. I don't mean to be blunt or to curse, but man the fuck up. This is your family, and it's your job to make things right. Now about John..."

"He just, he won't talk to me, I don't know what he wants," I mumble, running my hand over my face and sighing.

"Maybe he wants space," Washington suggests.

"What makes you think so?" I mumble.

"Well, he's hurt. He's mad at you." Washington leans forward. "Truthfully, everyone wants a little space from you. You know I loved you like a son for years, but I'm really mad at you right now, and I'm hurt too. Honestly, I don't think you quite know how much you hurt your friends by doing this."

"What do you mean, sir?" I ask. "What do you mean when you say you're hurt?"

"Remember your freshman year of college?" Washington reminisces. "You lived with me for a whole week because you and John were fighting, but you made up, and I got to see that smile on your face after he kissed you on my doorstep. I watched you and John grow, I watched you make your way through rough patches, hell, I gave you away at your wedding. The happiness you two shared was contagious, and it was hard to be sad around you both. Sunday dinner has a new energy without you guys. You didn't just hurt us because you cheated on John, you hurt us because you took something away that we could always rely on. Your actions, Alexander, they have consequences that are not just limited to you."

I laugh bitterly. "Lafayette hates me."

Washington shakes his head. "He doesn't hate you. He's incredibly hurt by you, he is very mad at you, and he no longer trusts you, but I promise you he would still take a bullet for you any day."

I sigh. "I don't know how to make things right again. I don't know what to do."

"Do what you always do, Alexander," Washington answers, fixing his tie.

"What do I always do?" I inquire.

He almost smiles, then looks at me. "Write."


	13. To sodomy, its between God and me

/Phillip/

I sit on Eaker's bed, sighing as I stare at the ceiling. Eaker is next to me, gently running his fingers over my chest with his eyes closed. I'm pretty sure he's partially asleep, and I don't want to disturb him, but I'm starting to get bored. Maybe I could just jerk off, but if I want to have a really good orgasm I'd have to turn on my side to get a few fingers into me. I can't quite reach my phone, so the only thing to do is jump over the moon. I wish Eaker would wake up and take me home or to the movies or something, anything but this.

"Are you awake?" he whispers.

"Yes," I answer. "I can never sleep after sex."

"Do you wanna go get high?" Eaker asks me, sitting up and looking down at me. His eyes flit over my uncovered body for a moment, lingering with almost animalistic emotions in them, but regain their place meeting my own eyes in a second.

I nod, gently running my hand down his chest. "Honestly, that sounds really nice right now. Here, or...?"

Eaker shakes his head. "Junkyard, few blocks down. You know the place. You can meet a few of my friends, and a few more."

"Sure," I mumble. "Can I borrow a jacket?"

Eaker nods and stands up, beginning to get dressed. I lie there a moment, almost wondering why I let myself get treated like this, then I get up and find my clothes. Today, I just wore a straight edge pair of black jeans and a white tee shirt with an old brown and yellow short sleeve button up over it. I catch the black hoodie that Eaker tosses me and throw it on, then follow him outside.

We start walking and he almost takes my hand, but then quickly decides that grabbing my ass and pulling me closer would be less like courting and more comfortable me. He's right. I don't know why, but I just feel more comfortable if I know I'm being used for just my body. Like, I know people have the physical aspects of me, but the emotional aspects? Those are only mine. I keep the deepest parts of me away from the people who just want me for my body. I share those secrets with the ones who I know are ride or die for me. Eaker? Jacky? William? Yeah, they got my back if I need a ride or some quick drugs, but the first sign of trouble and they would leave me. Theo? Georges? Hell, even Peter; I wouldn't be surprised if I ever spent the night in a jail cell with them.

"Here we are," Eaker smiles, escorting me through a small door and into an old junkyard. A few kids are sitting around a fire, another few are passed out on the hood of a rusting car. Eaker escorts me through a few groups until we make it to a circle of kids, smoking weed and laughing together.

"What's up?" Eaker greets, sitting on a milk crate and pulling me into his lap.

"Damn, who's your boy toy?" A tall dark haired Indian looking kid laughs, leaning back as smoke comes out of his nose.

"I am not Eaker's anything. Just a friend," I state, smiling.

"I do believe we came here to get high, so, get high we will," Eaker laughs, pulling a pipe and a bag with some pot in it out of his hoodie. He loads up a bowl and hands the pipe over to me, smiling as I make sure to cover the little hole on the side. He puts the lighter down to the intoxicating herbs and I inhale, letting the sweet smoke flow through my mouth and into my lungs. I hold it there for as long as possible until I can't take the burn, then I exhale through my nose, smiling a bit.

"What's your name, kid?" The Indian boy asks me.

"I'm not a kid, and my name is Phillip," I inform him, passing the pipe to Eaker.

"'M Rufus King." He points to a kid who looks so out of it I don't think he's aware I'm here. "That's Elbridge Gerry." He finally points to a kid who is blowing smoke out his nose and laughing. "And that's Gov. How'd you and Eaker meet?"

I shrug. "I was fucking his friend and then he became my drug dealer and then we fucked a couple of times and now I'm here."

"Damn, you look young, are you even legal?" Gov asks, sticking two blunts in either side of his mouth and lighting them.

"I am if you keep your mouth shut," I joke, taking the pipe from Eaker and smiling. I take a hit but before I blow out, I connect my lips with Eakers, blowing the smoke into his lungs. He moans lightly when we finally pull away. His hand grabs the space between my legs but I push it away, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Damn, are you two exclusive?" Rufus asks, laughing a bit.

I take a second to laugh at Gov with his sunglasses upside down and the two blunts in his mouth and smoke blowing out his nose, then I look back to Rufus. "No, we aren't. I have never been in a singular exclusive relationship. Not my thing."

"Daddy issues?" Gov asks me.

I shake my head. "I mean, sort of, but those are pretty recent."

"You do anything harder than weed?" Rufus questions, digging through his pocket a bit.

"No, he does not," Eaker states, handing me a blunt.

"Who says you have any say over what I do?" I ask, snatching the pipe back from him and placing it to my lips.

"Since I am a drug dealer and I have seen what heavier drugs do to people and you are a very smart and intelligent kid with no record and a lot of love," Eaker answers. "That, and you're too hot to become an addict."

I peck his lips and roll my eyes. "Whatever you weirdo."

"You two might make a good couple," Gov states, trying to take a drag through his nose.

I laugh. "No, no. I uh, I got one person who'd I'd get with if I was to get with someone. He's kind of an asshole, but, I dunno, he's not too much of an asshole. Makes me laugh."

"Hey man, don't settle unless you're ready," Gov states, lighting a third blunt in his mouth and taking in a long deep breath. "I wasted a year of my life on some girl who took up all my energy. I dunno, she had an eating disorder and that was just, it was too much. I ain't hating on people with eating disorders, and I know it's hard, but shit, she just, it's like she expected me to be her therapist. I left her and shit just got way better for me. You, you deserve the world, Phillip. You deserve so much love."

I swallow hard. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

"What's your last name?" Gov asks me, looking me up and down.

"Hamilton," I mumble.

"Ah," he says quickly. He then stands up and stumbles over to me, before taking me in his arms and hugging me. "You're gonna be okay, kid. I promise."

"Shit, Eaker," I say, laughing as my voice cracks a little bit. "Your stoner friends are gonna make me cry."

"Aw, don't cry, Pip, we love you," Rufus states.

I roll my eyes and rest my head against Eakers chest as I feel the beginning effects of the weed set in. One common misconception about marijuana is that it's bad for you. That actually couldn't be farther from the trust. It's better for you than alcohol, and honestly has more health benefits than it does issues. Firstly, it's not addictive, and it can actually help people get off drugs. I know my pops smoked a lot of weed when he was trying to quit drinking. He says it helped him. It's a stress reliever and it can help with chronic pain, which is always nice if you hurt yourself or something. My dad smokes weed when he's too strung up about work, and it does relax him a lot.

About an hour later, I'm standing up and making my way to the road, scrolling through my contacts to see who can pick me up. Since I am stoned off my mind, I don't exactly remember that Georges and I are fighting, so I press his number and call him, laughing almost as I do. It rings twice, and then he picks up.

"Hey, Pip," he says, almost unsure.

"Hiya, Georgie, won't you be a pal?" I stop to laugh for a second. "I need someone to pick me up from D & D Salvage in the East Village, and you have a car."

"Are you high?" He asks.

"Don't ask questions that are irrelevant," I request. "C'mon, please? It would really make me happy. Please?"

He sighs. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't go into the road, and please be safe."

"I will, I will, Georges," I mutter, laughing.

He hangs up and I sit down on the curb, laughing as I stare up at the sky. The clouds are in different shapes and it's nice, pretty. I end up lying back so I can have a better view. The smell of weed still burns in my nose, and my clothes almost reek of it. At least it's not too cold out, so the simple hoodie I borrowed from Eaker is protecting me from the chilly early September air. By the time Georges pulls up though, I do feel ready to sit in a warm car and relax. I stand up and stumble into Goerges' lime green bug and laugh as I buckle my seatbelt.

"Are you good?" He asks quietly as he begins driving.

I nod. "I am so good, Georges. For once, I am good. Let's go get AIDS!"

"Phillip, Phillip no," Georges laughs, stopping at a stop light.

"Why not?" I complain.

"Because we don't want a repeat of the 80s." Georges looks over at me and smiles.

I gasp. "Oh but we do! The 80s were best! We had David Bowie, Prince, Freddie Mercury! It was an inspiration for the musical Rent, which is still timeless. La Vie Boheme was the only musical song that fucking slapped. Don't get me started on the whole shopping fad! Ugh, let's not forget that everyone was gay and lesbians had like, secret cults."

"Phillip, you're a mess," Georges laughs.

I gasp as Africa by Toto comes on the radio, and then turn it up and begin singing. Since my self-control is very little at the moment, I am yelling the lyrics with the windows open. Georges flinches but then begins singing with me too. We sing loudly and granted, not very well, but we don't need to sing well. In that time though, the fight comes back to me, and all his hurtful words stab painful reminders into my heart, but I look over at him, smiling and singing with me, and I realize that maybe I can forgive him again because honestly, I don't see why I shouldn't. Georges is flawed, yes, but that doesn't mean he is bad. I am flawed too, but he still sticks with me. He's my friend, so I do forgive him.

"Okay, Pip," Georges mummers, pulling up to my house. "We are here."

I smirk and lean over, trapping his lips in a kiss. Georges moans in surprise but quickly kisses back, putting his hands behind my head. I unbuckle my seatbelt and climb into his lap, straddling him as we continue our lustful makeout session. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back, then begins biting and nipping at my skin. He finds my sweet spot, which is just over a small bundle of nerves on my left side, and begins sucking, bringing loud and almost obnoxious moans from me. He squeezes my ass and I grind on him, moaning gently. Finally, we pull away, breathing heavy.

"I, I gotta go inside," I whisper, pecking his lips.

"See you tomorrow?" Georges asks lightly as I pull myself out of his lap.

I nod. "Pick me up, I don't want to walk."

He nods and places his hand on my shoulder for a second. "M'kay, text me."

I nod, stepping out of his car. "Will do."

I shut the door and stumble into my house, still obviously very high. Since I've been hit with the munchies, and no one seems to be around, I grab some bread, some spaghetti sauce, and some vegan cheese, then make some sort of makeshift pizza. I put it in the microwave for a minute and then place it on a paper towel before taking it outside with me. I lie on the grass and stare up at the sky, very awkwardly eating my weird pizza thing. It's good, but I can't tell if that's just because I'm stoned. Either way, I eat it pretty quickly.

"How was school?" I hear a voice asks. I look up to see my pops. He steps into the yard and lies next to me, staring at the sky as well.

I frown a bit. "It was boring, the usual. How was work?"

My pops chuckles. "I hung out with baby penguins all day. It was good."

A silence falls over us for a bit as we stare at the sky. I sigh gently and think about the food I'm gonna eat later. Weed always helps me eat. Sometimes I don't eat enough, but I don't feel hungry, so I smoke some weed and eat more. It helps me, and it makes me feel better.

"Is that a hickey?" My pops asks.

I groan, putting my hands over my face. "I already got the sex talk from dad, can we please not do that again? I get it, condoms, stay safe, I can talk to you guys."

"Oh thank God," my pops laughs. "Your dad and I used to argue over who would give you the talk and who would avoid the house during that time."

"Not really argue, though," I mumble.

My pops sighs. "Yeah, not really argue."

For a second I feel almost as if I'm going to cry. A lump builds up in my throat, and my eyes begin to water, but I quickly swallow hard and sigh, tapping my fingers gently on my stomach as I watch the cloud.

"Are you dating someone?" My pops questions.

I make a gagging noise. "Ew, no, never. Love is a disgusting waste of time."

"So you're just," my pops pauses, looking for the wording. "You're just sleeping with other people you don't know."

I shake my head. "I know all of them."

"Do I know any of them?" He asks.

"Nope," I mumble. "I don't want you guys to meet them, either."

"Fair enough," my pops mumbles.

I sigh and watch the sky begin to change color, from a nice blue to a pale yellow. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, kid," my pops replies.

I pause before I let the words escape my lips, wondering if I really want to know the answer, but then I decide to ask it anyway. "Are you and dad gonna get a divorce?"

There's a long pause from my pops. I don't think I even hear him breathing. I almost regret asking the question. I could've just ruined a perfectly fine moment with my pops, something I haven't had in a while. Bonding with my parents is hard when both of them just want to shut themselves away and focus on something else. I hope I didn't though, I hope he knows that if he doesn't want to answer, I'm not going to beg him to.

"I don't know," my pops finally says.

"Do you want to divorce him?" I question.

A sigh comes from my pops. "Yes and no."

"Elaborate," I say, turning my head to look at him a bit.

"I want to divorce the man who cheated and lied to me. I want to divorce the man who humiliated me publicly and caused this whole mess," my pops explains. "But I don't want to divorce the man who does the dishes because he knows I don't like to. I don't want to divorce the man who will always make sure we have enough coffee creamer because I can barely stomach just plain black coffee. I don't want to divorce the man who will gently tease me for being a vegan, but still, come and stand by my side as I protest animal abuse."

"You're torn," I mutter.

He pauses, then starts again. "Do you want us to divorce?"

"I want you to stop fighting," I answer honestly. "I don't care how just stop."

"It's not that simple," my pops informs me.

"Just, what else do you guys need to say to each other? What else is there to be said? You can't yell his affair out of existence, so why yell at all? I know it's not that simple, but can't you guys just, I dunno, go to counseling, split, something, anything. I don't really care what," I murmur, running my fingers over the grass.

"It's just, he won't talk to me," my pops states.

"Because you won't talk to him," I argue.

"It's not as simple as you're making it," my pops tells me.

I sit up, sighing as I push myself to my feet and turn to walk into the house. "Nothing ever is. At least I know the beauty of a quiet house though."

I walk back inside and head up to my room, feeling a heavy weight on my heart. I feel tired, but not in the way that would make me fall asleep, just in the way where I want to lay in bed for hours and hours. So that's what I do. I strip out of my clothes and lay down, pulling the blankets over me. I play Dutch talk radio on my phone so it's not too quiet in my room. Then I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I can't really process what they're saying, though I know the language pretty well. I can't really process anything. I just want to stare up at my ceiling and stay there. I feel so exhausted. I just want to sleep, but I feel like I can't.

Hours pass, or I think they do. It feels longer than only three hours, but even though it's dark enough to be midnight, it's only eight. My stomach is grumbling, but I don't want to get up, and I don't want to put the effort into making food. My heart is so heavy right now, I just want to curl up and sleep for the next few months. A nice coma, that's what I need.

"Knock knock," my dad says, stepping into my room. "You okay, sport?"

I don't answer at first, wondering if I should lie or not, but then I decide there's no point in lying since he'll see right through me. So, I answer honestly. "Nope."

He scratches the back of his head. "Have you eaten?"

"No," I mumble.

"I'm gonna go get you some food and water, I'll be right back," he tells me.

I only hum in response and continue staring up at the ceiling, counting the charms and dream catches I have hanging from it. I used to get night terrors as a kid. I would wake up screaming and crying, and my parents would come in and rock me back to sleep. Then my dad started making little dream catchers for me, and my pops would collect good luck charms and thread on twine. They would both hang them up on my ceiling. My dad explained that dream catchers were something he and his mother would do when they were sick, and they always protected him. My pops told me that the charms, simple things like bottle caps or buttons, were to bring me luck and safety. I never took them down, because they did help. Maybe it was just a placebo, but I don't care.

"Hey, kid, I cooked you up a good old reliable burrito and I brought you water and orange juice because you need your vitamins," my dad says, coming in with food.

I sit up and place the plate on my lap. "Thank you."

"You should get some light in here," he mumbles, opening my curtain a bit and letting the last half hour of sunlight cascade into my room, leaving strange shadows on the floor. I'm just gonna close it when he leaves.

"I guess," I reply.

He stands there for a second, then looks up gently. "You wanna write together?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Like, we could just sit together and write or something," he suggests.

I shrug. "Maybe another time? I'm really just, I don't feel very creative right now."

My dad nods. "I get it. Just, if you need to talk about anything, you can come to me or your pops, we're always gonna be here for you. Make sure to eat and drink up." He walks to my door and then looks back at me. "Door open or closed?"

"Closed," I mutter lightly.

"Love you," he tells me.

I nod, looking down at my food and willing my voice not to crack. "Love you too."

He closes my door and I get up, closing my curtain and then sitting back down. I sip my orange juice and take a bite of my food. It is really good, so I find myself eating the rest of it. I know my dad used to never be able to cook, but when he and my pops moved into Washington Heights for college, he learned from a woman how to cook Mexican and then he learned from my abuela how to cook Caribbean food, so now he can cook pretty well, just, my pops likes cooking more than he does.

After I eat, I lay down and close my eyes, groaning a little bit. My body feels stiff and I feel uncomfortable as hell, but that doesn't stop me from putting Prince on shuffle and closing my eyes, slowly falling into a deep and restless sleep. 


	14. Treat yourself, you funky little gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theo Burr is literally the only character I will give my life for.

/Phillip/

It's Saturday morning and Theo told me to be prepared to go somewhere by nine in the morning, so, at eight thirty, I'm showered and sitting in the living room, writing a little bit. My week went by pretty okay, me spending half the night at Georges' place yesterday. I don't really know where Theo is going to take me, but I hope it's nowhere fancy because I'm wearing just a pair of black jeans and an old button up Hawaiian shirt, older and brownish green. It flatters my skin tone thankfully. Truthfully though, I hope we're not going to meet a bunch of people because I treasure my alone time with her. Georges and she are the people who know me best, but sometimes I do feel better around her because I know she's not going to judge me for my life choices.

My stomach grumbles and I make my way downstairs to get some breakfast. My pop is in the kitchen, drinking his coffee and reading the New York Times. He looks tired, but I don't think they fought last night, I fell asleep pretty early though. I figure I would've woken up because I am a chronically light sleeper.

"You're up early," my pop says, looking me up and down a bit.

I nod as I grab a granola bar. "Theo is picking me up in half an hour for, uh, I don't actually know. I'm just, I'm going along with it I guess. You know her, she got her mom's genes, she's spontaneous."

My pop laughs. "She is. How are you feeling? I know there's a flu or something going around, and I don't want you to get sick. Take some vitamin C."

I go to the vitamin cabinet and take a chalky orange flavored pill, then lean back against the counter and begin eating my food. "I'm feeling fine."

My pop hums and stands to place his mug in the sink. "That's good. Hey, do you know what time you're going to be back?"

I shrug. "I'll ask Theo, but I don't really want to be out that late, so maybe fiveish? Seven at the latest. She just told me to be prepared to have a day out."

"Okay, kid," my pop tells me. "Hey, you know I love you, right?"

I nod. "I love you too, pop."

He places his hand on my shoulder and then pulls me into a bit of a side hug. "I'm sorry things are difficult. I'm sorry you've had to witness your dad and I fighting. I'm sorry things can't go back to the way they are. No matter what, though, we're always going to be a family. I'm always going to love you, and you're always going to be my son."

I am about to say something, but then I hear footsteps coming down. I turn to see my dad. He makes eye contact with my pop, and for a second, the house is deafeningly quiet, but it's broken by a knock at the door. My dad goes to open it, and in walks Theo without being invited. At least we know she's not a vampire.

"Phillip, I'm here to..." she trails off as she senses the energy in the room. "I'm here to come and get you," she finishes more humbly.

I nod. "Okay, let's go. Bye, dad, bye, pop, love you guys."

"Love you too," they both say, kinda in unison.

I grab Theo's hand and quickly pull her out of the house and to the car. I know they could start fighting any minute now, and I don't want them to do that in front of my friends. It's embarrassing enough for them to know what's going on, but my parents fighting in front of them? I'd rather jump off the Brooklyn bridge.

"Oof, that was a tense situation," Theo laughs quietly as we get into her car.

I nod. "Glad you showed up when you did. Shit was about to get intense."

"Your parents are still fighting?"

I nod, laughing. "Oh man, they are still fighting. Ten bucks say that if we go back right now, we could hear them from the car."

"I'm sorry Pip," Theo says slowly. "But today, today we don't focus on any of that. No men, no parents, no friends who judge your life. Just you and me, alright?"

"Alright," I agree.

"Now, firstly, we're going to get breakfast because your stupid vegan granola bar is not going to cut it." Theo snatches it out of my hand and throws it in the back seat.

"I was eating that," I mutter, frowning.

"Yeah, and I could be eating pussy if I wanted to," Theo jokes. "We're going out to eat."

"Okay, could you please tell me what your plans are with me?" I ask her gently, leaning forward and fiddling with the radio a little bit.

"Remember last week when you were crying in my arms and I said 'let's have a spa day you perfect little queer' and you agreed?" Theo says, smiling.

"Theo, you didn't," I whisper, staring at her in awe.

"Oh but I did," Theo says, smiling. "Now, I was thinking we could go to that vegan breakfast place run by those lesbians. I figured it would be something for both of us, you know?"

I smile and sit back. "God, you're the best person ever."

Theo looks at me and nods. "Damn right I am."

We get to the breakfast place, and honestly, you can tell it's run by lesbians the moment you walk in. Firstly, there's a lot of abstract erotic lesbian art on the walls; Secondly, there are cats running around; Finally, though, the atmosphere is very safe, which I've always found lesbians provide. I've never felt in danger around a lesbian. They're always so relaxed and chill. That's one of the reasons I've love Theo so much. She gets the whole deal of moving really fast with someone. I once asked her why lesbians do that, move so fast, and she told me that is was so hard to find love that pure, so when you do, it's so passionate and caring, and you don't want to slow down because you want to be with them totally and completely. She told me the love was too strong to just ignore. At this point, I told her she was being mushy and then we went back to baking an erotic cake for her cats birthday.

"Well aren't you two cute," says a woman, coming to our table with menus. "Is this a special breakfast date?"

Theo snorts. "No, no date. We're both very gay."

"I get that," the woman says, nodding. "Would you guys like to order drinks?"

"I'll have a black coffee," I say, smiling.

"And I'll have a virgin pina colada," Theo states.

"Really? Drinking? This early in the morning?" I ask sarcastically.

She shrugs. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

The waitress laughs. "I'll have that right out for you."

She walks away and I open my menu, scanning the items to find something to eat. I think I have been here once before, but it's hard to tell since half the restaurants in New York vegan and half the vegan restaurants are run by gays. I don't know what it is about gay vegans moving to New York, but it's quite odd, truthfully. Maybe it's like, a secret cult or something that I've never heard about. Maybe they're waiting for me to be of age so they can kidnap me and sacrifice me to the Buddha or something.

"I'm gonna get the banana oatmeal, what about you?" Theo says, closing her menu.

"Breakfast burrito," I answer plainly, smiling.

"Here are your drinks, can I take your order?" The waitress says, smiling gently at us.

"Yes, we'd like one bowl of banana oatmeal and one breakfast burrito," Theo states, knowing that I hate ordering food at restaurants. The waitress nods and walks away. I sit back and look out the window for a second, then back to Theo, who is tying her hair up into a bun.

"Theo, can I ask you something?" I say quietly.

"I can't guarantee an answer but I can guarantee at least one dad joke," she replies, smiling as she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest.

I run my tongue over my teeth and begin to rub the fabric of my shirt between my thumb and pointer finger. "Do you think I'm a slut?"

"Phillip Hamilton!" Theo exclaims. "What on earth prompted you to ask such a thing? Of course not! You are living your life exactly how you want to, and there's nothing wrong with that."

I shrug. "I dunno, I know virginity is just a social construct meant to shame woman, and that the word slut and whore are purely derogatory and the amount of sexual partners you've had in your life doesn't define your worth or give consent, but sometimes I just feel like, like maybe I wouldn't be going through some of the stuff I am if I just, I dunno, just became a tease and stopped going all the way."

"Phillip," Theo starts. "If you want to stop sleeping around, then that's your choice, but make sure it's only your choice. If someone pressures you into changing something about yourself, then the change is never accepted. Your life is only your own, and you deserve to live it how you want to, as long as you're being safe. Truthfully, as long as you're using condoms and giving consent, sleeping around is not unsafe, just make sure it doesn't negatively affect you."

"I can't tell if I want to stop, or if Georges wants me to stop and I want him to like me," I mumble, shrugging a bit and looking down.

"Georges is a good kid but he treats you like shit a lot and he's also a piece of shit who I sometimes want to slap in the face," Theo states bluntly.

"Theo!" I say, laughing a bit.

She throws her hands up. "It's true! You forgive him and it's none of my business why, but personally, I think you need to make him work a bit harder for your friendship. You're a wonderful person Phillip, and you haven't done anything to personally offend him with your actions. You have never ditched us for a boy, and it's not like you're cheating on anyone. I just think that you should take a bit of a break from Georges, see how it feels."

I shake my head. "He's one of my best friends."

"Hey, I ain't trying to tell you what to do, I'm just saying if that boy had ever spoken to me the way he speaks to you, I'd whoop his ass into tomorrow and then some," Theo states, laughing as the waitress sets out food down.

"I know you would, Theo," I laugh, taking a bite of burrito. "Tell me about Franny."

Theo sighs, swooning a bit. "She's wonderful. So wonderful. We'll always meet at a cafe and she'll pick me flowers. Sometimes she'll stop at the farmers market and get me small jars of honey or jam, and oh my gosh, she'll do the most beautiful drawings of me. God, I love her."

"That only took..." I begin to do math in my head. "Let's see, it's a week into September, and you two met at the pride festival at the end of June, so that's July, August, and, oh, that's it. Two months. I'm very proud of you, Theo." I give her a small applause, smiling.

"Okay listen here you son of a bitch," Theo says in a joking manner. "You don't feel love because you're a gay man, I'm a lesbian, I'm wired differently than you."

"Preach!" Someone in the restaurant shouts.

"I can feel love!" I defend.

Theo stares at me blankly.

"I can!" I laugh a bit. "I just, I chose not to. I was born gay but I trained myself to be a sociopath. It's very bold of you to assume that this just comes naturally. But back to Franny."

"We're gonna get married," Theo says, smiling.

"May I please be your best man?" I ask. "You give off your whole femme vibe but I know you gonna be standing up there in some killer three-piece white suit with a mafia hat and a golden pocket watch."

She smirks. "Maybe so."

Theo and I finish our breakfast, then go to the spa. I step in, expecting to be waiting for a few minutes, but Theo and I are instantly escorted to a room with cubbies, where we undress and put on soft robes. I tie mine tightly and then get lead to a steam room, where we change out of our robes and into some towels before stepping in. We're the only ones in here, so it's nice to just sit back and relax. I lean my head against the wall and sigh gently, sitting next to my best friend, who only has the towel tied around her waist since she knows I don't care.

"Theo?" I say quietly, not wanting to disturb the piece.

"Yes?" She replies.

"We are Goddesses," I tell her.

"Damn right we are," she says, laughing.

"What is the schedule?" I ask.

"Well," she starts, the smile apparent in her voice. "We have the steam room first, then our detoxing bath, which is like, us soaking in some tea or something? I don't know, my mom said it would help. After that, we have full body massages. We have a quick break for tea and spring rolls, then we get our hair washed, have our facials, and then a mani-pedi. Does that sound like a nice day?"

I let out a deep sigh. "Honestly, that sounds amazing."

When we get out of the steam room, we go to a room that has the special detoxing baths in it. It's two bathtubs, with a light greenish blue water. Next to them are little tables with tea on it. The water is nice and the bathtub has an adjustable temperature, so that means it's heated.

"Ugh, Theo, you are the best person in the world," I state, smiling as I sip my tea.

"I know, Phillip," she replies. "So Halloween is coming up."

I groan. "It's two months away, dear. I haven't even thought about midterms. What is your obsession with this holiday?"

"Because I think it's fun," she states. "Will you go trick or treating with me this year?"

I sigh. "I'll think about it. I may just go to a party though. I don't like trick or treating all too much. Maybe I can just stay home and watch porn or something."

"Porn has been so dry lately, have you noticed?" Theo says.

I nod. "Honestly, I miss the 80s. Gay porn now is so, so predictable. Like they gonna suck dick and then do it missionary. Even if you try to search up kinky stuff, it's always like, way too much. Like I don't want this twink to hang upside down from the ceiling. Just gag him and cuff him. God."

Theo hums in agreement. "Same with lesbian sex. It's incredibly fake. Everyone starts out straight, and then they're not anymore. I get sick of it. Also, no one moans like that. I swear the only way to get off anymore is to actually have sex."

"That takes so much work sometimes though," I mumble. "I just want a quick morning delight. Until Kendrick Lamar releases his sex tape, I'm just going to have to get a vibrator.

"You don't have one already?" Theo asks, looking at me.

I shake my head. "No, I don't know where to get one because I'm a stupid gay who can't sit, drive, or do maths."

"Oh, Pip, honey, we gotta get on that. After this, we're getting you a vibrator," she says, smiling. "I don't want to hear a single argument. In fact, I have plenty of money because I pull in bank because of that dance class I help teach, so we're getting you a vibrator and something else, because it's important to be able to have some alone time, you know?"

I laugh. "Since when are you the expert on sex?"

"Never said that," Theo points out. "I'm simply stating that if you find yourself in a moment where a lover is not available, but you need a little something, you should not have any pent-up stress, yes?"

I laugh. "We're so freakin' weird. You know Georges would have been halfway across the world if we tried to involve him in this conversation."

"That's because Georges is a man, he doesn't get such important matters like this one," Theo says dramatically, laughing.

"I'm a man," I point out to her.

"You don't count though, because you're a chaotic bottom," she explains. "You basically have the same intellect as any lesbian out there."

I roll my eyes. "Thank you, that makes me feel very good."

"Say what you will, but other men would kill to be in your situation," she laughs.

We finish our baths and then begin our massages. Not much is said during this time, except for the lady commenting that I am very stiff and should try to eradicate stress in my life. I only laughed, and then groaned as she began working out a knot in my back. The massages were pleasant though, the smell of peppermint oil being rubbed into our skin. Walking out in my robe with freshly moisturized skin was definitely what I needed. I felt relaxed and very good. Theo looked as though she was on cloud nine, smiling lightly as we sat down for tea and spring rolls. I lean back, smiling as I take a bite of the clean and crisp tasting food.

"Thank you for this," I say, smiling at her. "I feel like I should get you something in return."

Theo leans across the table and pinches my cheek a little bit. "As long as I get to see that cute little smile on your face, then you don't owe me anything. Are you feel relaxed and happy right now?"

I nod, my mouth full. "Yes, this is very pleasant. I think we should have a yearly spa day, though next year, I'm paying, okay?"

"But I'm the sugar daddy," Theo whines.

"Maybe so, but I'm allowed to do nice things for you," I argue, laughing at her a bit.

"You know you're like a brother to me, right Pip?" She says, her tone becoming a bit more serious but her smiling remaining on her lips.

"And you're like a sister to me," I reply.

"Just, please don't be afraid to come over," she continues.

"Last time I was there, I yelled at one of your dad's clients," I mumble, chuckling darkly. "Granted, he ruined my family, but still."

"He knows you were just mad, and there is a lot about the situation you don't know, so it's not your fault you blew up the way you did. You can always come over," Theo tells me.

I smile and nod. "Thank you. I'm sorry I've been such a drama queen lately, but it just seems like drama is the only thing life has to offer right now. It's nice to know I have good friends who won't leave."

"And why would I?" Theo exclaims. "You and I, we have known each other since before we can remember. We are womb to tomb." She lifts her teacup.

I hold up mine and clink it against hers. "Birth to earth."

"Brother from another mother," she jokes, knowing damn well I have two dads.

"Sister from another mister," I smile.

"Sib from another crib," she continues.

"Okay this is where I cut us off because I know if I don't it's gonna be a mess," I say, sipping my tea.

"You may be right," she nods, sipping her tea.

When we are done with that, we get our hair washed. I've always loved getting my hair washed by someone else because it feels so nice. The water is always warm and I love it when people touch my hair. It feels so comforting. They ask me what products I usually use, and I tell them to use anything with tea tree oil because that's what brings out the natural beauty of my hair the most. Theo's hair schedule is much more complicated because she's a lot blacker than I am, but I have hella respect for that. She says she wants to get her hair cornrowed for her birthday, which I think would look cool. My aunt Maria has her hair cornrowed, and it slays on her. She lives upstate, with my Aunt Eliza. My Aunt Peggy lives, uh, she lives. She's a traveling writer and photographer for National Geographic. I always thought that was really cool. Then my aunt Angelica lives with my uncle Church in a nice apartment in downtown Manhattan, though they sometimes talk about moving into my neighborhood.

After we get our hair washed, we go and get our facials. I use African black soap as a face wash because it's what works best with my skin type, so my face is actually pretty clear. I do get a cool face mask that needs to stay on until after my mani-pedi. Theo gets the same treatment, and soon enough, we both have cucumbers over our eyes and we're sitting in large comfy recliner chairs, getting our hands and feet massaged.

"Theo," I mumble as I feel the lady filing my nails, which are usually long since I don't remember to clip them that often.

"Yes, Pip?" She replies, obviously very relaxed.

"Is four a lot?" I ask.

"Depends," she starts. "Four dollars? No. Four murders? Yes."

"Four lovers," I clarify, thinking of Peter, William, Eaker, and Jacky.

She pauses for a second, thinking, then answers. "I don't think so, but you could get different answers from different people. Pro tip though, I'm the only one who's right."

I laugh, partially from her answer, and partially from the fact that they're scrubbing my feet and it tickles. "Thank you."

"Phillip, you don't know how much will power it's trying not to eat the freaking cucumbers over my eyes. You know how much I love cucumber. You know I eat that shit for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You know I can go through cucumbers as you go through men," Theo rants.

"On our way back, let's stop by the market and I'll buy you a whole bag of cucumbers," I suggest. "I've been meaning to stop by the market anyway, my house is out of carrots, avocados, and limes."

"Ooh, that sounds like a recipe, is someone cooking tonight?" Theo teases, giggling.

"You know me, cooking for one. Probably my favorite meal, the quinoa bowl," I explain.

"You gotta come over and cook for my family some time, I love the food you make. Your curry is to die for," Theo groans, chuckling. "Man, I'm hungry. Are you gonna stay for dinner or should I drop you back at Hamiltonia?"

Hamiltonia was a nickname for my house that came from a Halloween costume of mine a few years back. I was dressed as a king. No particular king, I was just feeling very vain. So, that Halloween night, I walked down the steps to greet my friends in a rich robe and very golden clothes, then loudly said 'who are you to step foot in the Hamiltonian kingdom?' Ever since then, my house has been referred to as Hamiltonia.

"Hamiltonia," I answer. "I gotta get home and bring the peace, you know how I do."

"I feel, I feel. You coming to Sunday dinner tomorrow? We've missed you at the last couple of em," Theo informs me.

I shrug a bit. "Maybe, I'll see how I'm feeling."

At one point, we have to stop getting our nails done and get the face masks taken off. When we do, Theo glances in the mirror and gasps, bringing another gasp from me as I glance over to her, making sure she's okay.

"My eyebrows!" She exclaims. "They came off!"

"You're eyebrows are still there," I tell her as we sit back down in the mani-pedi chairs. "The facial just washed your makeup off."

"You don't get it. You have thick and beautiful eyebrows, the only makeup you put on is all that messy black shit under your eyes, which you don't even need to look good. Without my eyebrows, who am I? A person? A being of light? I don't know, I don't have eyebrows."

"I happen to like that black shit under my eyes," I state. "And you look just fine without your brows filled in. Why don't you just dye them if you get so scared about them rubbing off?"

"Because it's nice to have a morning routine," Theo states.

Soon enough, our nails are done and we're walking out of the spa, refreshed, clean, and very happy. For a little bit, we just sit in her car, taking deep breaths and listening to her music. My back, which has been tense for quite some time, is now very loose and relaxed. I know the lady who massaged me probably saw all the hickeys, scratch marks, and bite marks that lined my skin, but I honestly don't care. What's she gonna do? Tell my mom? Jokes on her, I have two killer dads. Well, currently, I have two dads.

"Come on, kid, let's go get this bread," Theo says, laughing as she starts the car. We head to the market and fuck around, getting our vegetables and what not. Theo ends up taking a whole ass bite of her cucumber on the way home, laughing as I made plenty of gay jokes. When we pull up to the sidewalk at my house, we both just sit there for a second.

"Can I ask you something?" Theo chimes.

"Yeah," I mumble. "Shoot."

"How much do you know about Nathan Hale?" She turns to look at me.

"He tore apart my family, he's a prick, and he obviously didn't stop to think about his consequences," I answer honestly.

"Okay, I'm not trying to play devil's advocate right now, but I feel like you deserve to know the full story," Theo explains. "The only side I'm taking is yours, and yes, I do hate Nathan as well for what he's done to your family, but I feel like you should hate him for the right reasons. Have an educated loathing towards him, yeah?"

"Yeah," I agree.

"My dad, my dad is working with Nathan currently on a case, Nathan's divorce," Theo tells me. "So, because I'm a sneaky little sneak and I like spying and I'm a compulsive kleptomaniac, I definitely looked through the case files and took everything to memory because I am a little shit and I love spying on my dad's cases. Anyway, I learned a lot about Nathan Hale, what this whole divorce really is, what it's all about, and then, and then I learned how your dad plays into it. He's going to have to testify on Nathan's behalf."

"What the hell?" I say, sitting up. "Why?"

"Nathan is married to Pierre Hale and has been since high school. If I'm doing Math correctly, that would make Nathan thirty right now, twenty-five or six when the affair took place," Theo continued. "That's beside the point though, the point is that Nathan is married to Pierre Hale, and has been since high school. Well, soon after they graduated high school, Pierre started beating Nathan, the whole nine yards, you know what I'm talking about. Flash forward, Nathan is at your father's doorstep, asking for help, asking for assistance. Your father, apparently, had plenty of proof that Nathan was being abused, but didn't do much to act on it. Since he was a very involved person in Nathan's life for a period of time, and a lot of the whole money transferring basically proves that something shady was going on, your father has to testify to help Nathan win in court. So, basically, your father is helping Nathan, just a few years late."

"My dad, he, he knew?" I ask quietly.

"In the case, my dad wrote that your dad didn't know enough to make a good case, and Nathan wouldn't tell him anything, but that could just be my dad protecting yours," Theo explains. "I don't know, I just, I thought I should tell you."

I nod. "Thank you, for telling me. I should probably go in now if I want to make dinner on time." I lean in and hug her. "I love you, Theo."

"Love you too, Pippi Longstocking," Theo jokes.

I get out of her car and enter my house, thinking about the information that was just delivered to me. My dad, he, he must've known something was going on. He must've done something. He couldn't have just, just left Nathan to be hurt when the summer was over. Yes, I do feel angry at Nathan for what he's done to us, but is hatred still right word? If he was honestly coming to our family for help if he was honestly coming to us for help, why wasn't he helped? Why didn't my dad, one of the top lawyers in New York, help him?

"Hey, Pip," my dad says as I walk inside. "How was your day?"

"Did you honestly not notice that Nathan was getting beat?" I ask straight out.

My dad freezes, the mug filled with coffee most likely inches from his lips. "I'm sorry, Pip, you need to repeat that."

"Did you honestly not notice that Nathan was being beaten?" I ask again, coming into the kitchen to put my produce away.

"Phillip there was a lot of stuff going on and I don't think you're really obligated to ask me that because you weren't involved-"

I cut him off. "Just answer the damn question!"

My dad is silent for a moment. "I knew."

"Did you, did you do anything to help him?" I question softly, looking at my dad.

"Phillip, I couldn't do much after you and your pop got back and-"

I cut him off. "You could've stopped sleeping with him! You could've manned up and done what Aaron is doing! You could've given a damn shit about someone that summer since you obviously didn't give a shit about me and pop! I can't believe you! Do you know how selfish that is? Do you know how much that probably hurt Nathan?"

"Since when are you taking his side?" My dad snaps, standing up with anger in his eyes.

"I'm not taking his side! I'm not taking your side! I'm not taking anyone's side! I think what he did was bullshit, but what you did was bullshit too! You, that's not a good thing to do! You shouldn't have done that!" I stomp my foot and look down for a second, swallowing back tears. "Shit, you fucked up, but this? This is just bullshit. When you testify for Nathan, and you will if you love me, you better write the best damn speech ever. You better fucking help, do whatever you can. You, you owe it to Nathan and you owe it to me."

"Phillip..." My dad trails off.

"Please, I just, I can't talk to you right now," I mumble, walking out of the kitchen.

"Phillip!" My dad calls out.

"Just leave me alone!" I yell back, climbing the stairs. I walk past the second floor, which is empty. Then, I get to the third floor. My pop is standing in the doorway of his room, looking at me with sadness in his eyes.

"Pip, are you okay?" He asks quietly.

I stop, looking at him, then tears begin to slide down my cheeks. "I just, I feel so lied to."

My pop nods and pulls me into his arms. "I know. I know. Come here."

I hug him and sob into his chest. For a good few minutes, I just let my pop hug me, feeling kinda glad that I'm at least getting love from one of my parents. It's been such a long month, and I missed both of them. "Can I sleep with you tonight? Please?"

My pop instantly nods. "Yes, yes of course. We can order pizza and watch movies. You don't have to talk about it, but you can if you want."

I hug him tighter. "Thank you."

"Of course," he replies. "You're my son, Pip, I love you."

I sigh. "I love you too."


	15. THOT (That Hero Over There)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Let Phillip smoke weed

/Alex/

I sat in my office, twiddling my pen. I was thinking about what Phillip said. What he told me. He told me to help. He could've said so many things. He found out something truly awful about me, and he didn't try to hurt me, he didn't try to get back at me, he just told me to help Nathan. Something I keep going back to what he said though. He said he's not taking anyone's side. I almost, I almost have trouble believing that. Everyone has taken a side. Phillip, I just thought that he would take John's side, take Nathan's side, someone's. Maybe though, maybe he's just trying to protect himself in this whole disaster. He wants me to help though. I have to help. I've hurt my son so much, I can at least do this for him.

I stand up and walk out of my office, heading to Burr's office with my laptop and the file. I'm ready to do whatever I can because I owe Phillip this. I owe Nathan this. I never felt good about just leaving him like that, and I did often think about him; not sexually, no, it just, it made me sad when I thought about the fact that he was most likely still with Pierre. I never did anything though, so now's my chance. Now's my chance to maybe redeem myself through all of this. To help. To make sure my mistakes are fixed.

"Burr," I say, walking into his office.

"What do you want, Hamilton?" Burr asks.

"The Hale case, I want to help. I want to work with you on it," I state, sitting down at his desk and placing the file into it.

"What about me says I want you to work with me?" Burr asks.

"Come on, I was directly involved with both of them for a whole summer. I got evidence coming out my ass," I tell him. "I fucked up by not doing anything when I should've. Every time I thought about Nathan's abuse but pushed it to the back of my mind, I fucked up. I should've done so much more, I should've done what you're doing now years ago. You are doing the right thing, and I want to help because I need to help."

"Give me one non-selfish reason why I should let you help me," Burr states, leaning back in his chair and eying me.

"Phillip," I state plainly. "Phillip asked me to help. You can call him, text him right now, he'll confirm. He asked me to help, he told me to help because I did nothing to help all those years ago. That's my reason. I'm doing this for my son."

"You will be working very closely with Lafayette, as well as Madison," Burr explains, his eyes flitting down to the file momentarily.

"Okay." I open the file. "This is everything about the affair. I have screenshots of Nathan saying he needed to come over because Pierre was drunk. I have letters Pierre sent me, which might help still though they didn't have much in there. I am an eyewitness to Nathan's injuries, some of them I patched up myself. With all the evidence I have, I can't just testify, I have to, I have to help defend him.

Burr opens his laptop. "We're going to have to get your story. With all due respect, you won't be involved in the court case until you testify, due to the fact that we don't want to get accused of nepotism, which is very possible. Your name will not be on anything but the testimony. You are not Nathan's lawyer, you are not legally involved in his case. You will simply work with us to create the case. You're one of the best lawyers here, but this is the one case we will not put your name on. You will get no credit, no reward but your own satisfaction. Is that understood? At any other firm, I could lose my job by just letting you into my office."

"It's understood," I say, nodding. I don't feel an injustice at his words. I know he's right. I know it's what I deserve.

"Burr, James and I have been talking and-" Lafayette cuts himself off as he walks into the office, fixing his eyes on me. "What is Hamilton doing here?"

"Yeah, I thought loyalty was something we valued," James spits.

Burr sighs. "I know you hate him, but let's hear what he has to say. Besides, he made a point. This cheating little rat man-"

"Hey!" I say, furrowing my brows.

"Has more evidence in that stupid head of his than we do combined. We can't put his name on anything but his testimony. He's, he's basically like an overly needed temp to this case, and guys, if we want to give Nathan a good case, providing him with the help he deserves-" Burr's eyes flit over to me. "-Then we're going to have to use Alexander."

"That's dumb though," Lafayette states. "I don't like him."

"I don't like me either," I point out.

James sighs. "It's in our best interest, isn't it?"

Burr sighs. "Unfortunately. I don't like this any more than you do."

"I'm right here," I say loudly.

Lafayette groans, ignoring me. "But that's not fair. He's a piece of hot garbage and I don't feel like talking to him ever again."

"We'll have to all be adults and just, deal with it," Burr states. "Look, it isn't' going to be too long, and I know it's gonna suck, but he's doing this for his son."

"That's true, Phillip did ask me to do this," I argue.

James sighs. "Fine, let's get this over with."

"Jesus, am I really that bad?" I ask. "I get it, I fucked up, but you were still friends with me after that summer."

Lafayette sits down and glares at me. "Do you know how sick to my stomach that makes me? You left this poor man, you offered him no help. When I think about the fact that even after you did an act of such cruelty, I continued to call you my brother, it makes me want to throw up. If you and I had never become as close as we did, I would've knocked you on your ass with no second thought."

"Gentleman," James intervenes. "I believe we have a case to work on."

Lafayette sneers at me one more time, then begins to explain what they've got so far. I push away the guilt that he has so artfully instilled in me and listen. This is not the time to let emotions get in the way of work. I know I may have ruined the friendship I had with Lafayette, but we have a professional relationship that I refuse to taint, at least on my side.

"Hey, Washington called a meeting for the college gang," Angelica says, sticking her head into Burr's office.

"All of us?" Burr asks slowly.

"All of us," Angelica answers, shooting me a quick glance.

I gather my papers and laptop and stand, following the rest of them into the conference room. It's a bit quiet until Washington comes in. He looks very serious, almost worried, which instantly puts the rest of us on edge. I look up from the papers I was reviewing, my eyebrows creased as Washington sits down. He looks to us, a frown on his lips.

"I need your help," he says darkly.

"Is everything okay?" Thomas asks. "Sir, is something going on? Is it business or personal?"

"Personal," Washington states. "It has to do with my wife and my two foster daughters."

"What's going on?" James pushes.

He sighs, looking around. "I need to know, what does thot mean?"

The conference room is silent for a second, then people start laughing. Angelica leans against Lafayette, crying as I place my face in my hands and let deep chuckles escape my chest. I haven't laughed like this in a long time.

"Why are you laughing?" Washington asks. "This is a serious matter."

"Use it in a sentence," Thomas requests, smirking as he leans forward a bit as we instantly quiet down.

"Well, when I tell Martha that we're out of something, she'll say, 'you're such a thot George,' and then begin cackling with our daughters. I don't know. I know she's not using the word thought, because she says that different with her accent," George explains.

"Ah, that," Jefferson says wisely. "Why, it's just an acronym."

"For what?" George pushes, looking almost desperate.

"Simple," Thomas answers. "That hero over there."

The conference room is filled with the sound of stifling laughs. I look back down at my papers, smiling as I try not to catch Washington's eye.

"Oh!" Washington says happily. "I must go home and thank my wife! I am proud to be a thot! You are all thots!"

We all fucking lose it. Angelica is crying, full on. Lafayette has fallen out of his chair. Thomas has placed his head on his desk and is currently shaking, James is leaning against Thomas, trying to breathe, his inhaler in his hand. I am biting my thumb, trying not to laugh too loud, since I know I do need to be humble, and sometimes when I laugh, I snort.

"Except for Alex, though," Washington mutters.

I stop laughing. Everyone else laughs harder. I look down at the papers and feel ashamed as tears form in my eyes. All of these people have seen me cry before, and that's the most humiliating part. They have all seen me incredibly weak, and I hate that. I hate that they know what I look like at my worst, now more than ever.

I put my face back in my hands but this time to just hide the look on my face. The heartbroken look of my son floods into my mind, the sound of John's sobbing, the anger, the pain, the hurt all of this has caused. I know what I did was wrong, and I'm trying to redeem myself right now. I'm trying to fix things. Maybe I don't deserve their friendship anymore, but I wish they could just leave me alone for a little bit. Shit's already hard enough.

I don't notice the room has quieted down until someone says my name softly. I can feel wet tears on my hands, and I know if I show them my face, they'll know I was crying. I can tell by the voice that the person who said it was Aaron, who sat next to me. I didn't want to look up, I didn't want to respond, I just wanted to stay there for a little bit, let the darkness keep me company. It was nice, I could just block out the world for a little bit. I usually only got that at night. I didn't mind the fact though that I could have a quick moment of peace in this situation.

"You guys are being really unprofessional," I mumble, looking up. "Yeah, I get it. I'm a shitty person, what I did was awful, and I have absolutely no excuse. I haven't brought it into work once though. I haven't come in and just moped around. I haven't let my emotions get the best of me. There was the one time before the pamphlet was published, which involved both James and Thomas, but that was it. I haven't acted violently." I look at Angie. "I haven't promoted acting violently." I look at Thomas. "If I ignored any of you, it is because I knew I wouldn't be able to act mature. I have kept everything very professional. I understand the consequences of my actions did not just affect me. I understand Washington had to go through multiple cases just to make sure I didn't botch them. I understand I may have ruined my friendship with all of you, but not once have I acted maliciously towards you."

"What about the fight you and Jefferson got into?" Lafayette sneers.

"Jefferson was absolutely right, everything he said was correct and I was in the wrong. I snapped at him because it was a high-stress situation and I was looking to defend myself, but he was right." I look to Jefferson and nod a bit. "It's not like you are the only ones getting this point through my head. John has made it very clear what I have done wrong, and so has Phillip. I know exactly what I did wrong. I haven't been a good father, nor a good husband of late and I know that. I'm not trying to advocate for myself, because clearly my actions, all of them, were unjust, unfair, and inexcusable. I can apologize, but I know you won't believe me, or you won't care. Look, at this point, I don't care if none of you talk to me for the rest of my life, but can we please keep it work related when we are at work? If you have something to tell me about my child then feel free to shoot me a quick email, but if not, please refrain from slapping me in the parking lot."

There's a long silence in the room and I begin to shuffle my papers back into place so I can get them in the folder and leave. Then, something happens that I didn't expect. Someone took my side.

"Hamilton is right," Washington clarifies, motioning for me to stay seated. "No matter what is going on in anyone's personal life, this is a place of business, and we must show upmost maturity by treating Hamilton with civility, no matter his actions, myself included."

"Like the civility he showed Nathan Hale?" Laf points out.

"He is trying to help Nathan now," Burr points out, glancing at me. "I know that he understands that his past actions were wrong and unjust, but he does genuinely want to help. He chose to testify on Nathan's behalf, and he is offering us more evidence than we could've hoped for. In some ways, Hamilton is redeeming himself, and he helping Nathan now, so the argument of his treatment towards the man is becoming invalid due to Hamilton's, well, in many ways, laudable actions."

"This is bullshit, suddenly we're just taking his side because he threw himself a fucking pity party in front of all of us?" Lafayette exclaims.

"Perhaps there was some confusion on your part regarding the last thing I said, allow me to provide some clarity for you, Laf," I tell him, trying to keep my voice from sounding aggressive. "I didn't throw myself a pity party. I simply stated your actions are unprofessional and explained to you that I didn't need this slander to tell me that what I did was wrong, because truthfully Lafayette, I know what I did was wrong. My main focus right now isn't on the actual mistake itself, but on trying to fix it, so at least my son can have an okay life again. So, to reiterate, all I ask is that you treat me with civility while we are working. I understand this may be hard for you, but I think you can get the hang of it."

"Ooh, fancy corporate lingo," Lafayette says sarcastically.

"Yes, because I like to keep it professional," I tell him.

"Just like you kept it professional when you published a ten-page document on your sex life, huh?" He shoots back quickly.

"Gilbert!" Washington snaps.

The room falls silent. Washington just snapped at Lafayette, which never happens, ever. Lafayette is like, the favorite and everyone knows it. Not only did Washington snap thought, but he used Lafayette's professional first name. That never happens.

"That is enough," Washington continues. "Hamilton is speaking only truth. I don't want you to start another fight. He was your friend before he was your coworker, so maybe you can remember the bit of civility you had for him. That includes not calling him a bastard out of pure anger, because you know exactly how that affects him." He turns to Angelica. "And if I find out one more time that you used physical violence in the workplace due to anger, then we might have to reevaluate your career here. I am a boss before I am your friend."

"How did you know that was me?" She asks, sitting us. "Hamilton didn't even say my name! Why do you just assume that-"

"Because, Mrs. Schuyler, I know you very well, and I know how you sometimes act before you think," Washington states. "Meeting adjourned."

Everyone gets up very quickly and leaves, but I dawdle a bit, knowing that Washington always reviews the notes that James takes, though he's not a secretary. It is almost like an unspoken agreement. James takes notes and when we have meetings that are just the college crew, we have no one listening in. Maybe nepotism is a little bit involved when it comes to our group, but it's not like Washington offers us jobs or cases we don't deserve, it's more like, sometimes we just need to spend time around the original crew.

"Thank you," I mumble when everyone leaves. "Thank you for what you said."

"I'm the boss, you don't need to be thanking for doing my job," Washington says, not looking up from Madison's neatly crafted notes.

"With all due respect sir, I still feel obligated to thank you," I state.

Washington looks up, an almost smile playing on his lips. "Hamilton, right now, I think people are hurt. Do I think this will last forever? No. I still love you like you're one of my own, I just need time to forgive you for this, as well as everyone else. I'm going to talk to Lafayette because I know he is not projecting what his actual feelings are. Do you need anything?"

"No, sir, I have plenty of work-"

Washington cuts me off. "For a second, Alex, let us be equals. You are only my friend right now, not my subordinate. Do you need anything?"

I snort. "A hug would be nice."

"You want a hug?" Washington asks, laughing.

"Wait, I wasn't actually being serious-"

He cuts me off. "No, no you want a hug."

"Sir with all due respect this hardly seems professional!" I begin to back away for his open arms.

"Nope, sorry Hamilton, you're just my friend right now," he says, bringing me into a big bear hug and lifting me off the ground a bit. I groan but do treasure the loving contact from the man who has been like a father to me over half my life. I'm glad he knows things will go back to normal. I'm praying he's right, but even if Lafayette never talks to me again, at least I'll still have him, and Aaron possibly.

"What does thot really mean?" He asks as he hugs me a bit tighter.

"That hoe over there," I answer.

"I meant what I said then," he states. "I don't think you're a whore, or dirty, or anything like that. You made a mistake, granted, it was a pretty big one, but you still deserve love, Alex. Don't forget that. You still have people who love you."

"Thank you," I mumble, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

"Of course, Alexander," he replies.

"I'm sorry you had to reevaluate all those cases," I tell him when he finally releases me.

He shrugs. "I know you didn't mean for me to go through all that work, but it wasn't awful, I got it done. You should probably get back to work."

I nod. "Thank you, sir."

"Any time, Hamilton," he replies as I walk out.

I make my way back to Aaron's office and sit down, instantly joining into their conversation about the case. I avoid eye contact with Lafayette, and I ignore questioning glances from James. I am at work, and that's all that matters.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, and soon enough I'm making my way to my car, feeling happy that the day is over. I'm glad that I get to go home. I know a fight may be inevitable, but at least I'll be home. I just want to make myself some dinner, tell Phillip that I'm helping in the case, and maybe just, I don't know, maybe just avoid fighting with John tonight.

I pull into the driveway, then sit there for a little bit, listening to the radio and breathing heavy, thinking about what Washington said. He's one of the few people who is actually showing me kindness. Even Burr, who never picks a side, kinda picked a side. Washington though, he was mad at me, yes, but he still hugged me, he still defended me, and he still told me that I deserved love. I have gallons of guilt pooling in me for what I've done, but what Washington said kinda helped me calm down.

I step out of the car and head into the house. When I open the door, the smell of pot quickly hits me. I know it's not Phillip, because Phillip is smart enough to open his window and turn on his fan, or just smoke on the fire escape ladder, so it must be John. I'm almost glad he's high because that means he most likely will be too spaced out to fight.

"Alex!" He calls out when I get to the third floor.

I had just planned to go to my office, so I turn to him, skeptical. "I, I really don't want to fight right now, John. It's been a bit of a rough day."

"I don't want to fight, silly," John says, coming towards me and pulling on my tie a bit so I have no choice but to move closer.

"I also don't want to have sex with you," I state. "You're high."

"I don't want to have sex either," John mumbles, looking down a bit.

"What do you want?" I ask gently, placing my hand over his.

"I want you to hold me," he requests.

I sigh, looking him up and down. "You sure?"

He nods. "I miss your body."

I smile a bit and we walk into our room. He lays down on the bed while I change out of my clothing and into some pajamas. I put on some basketball shorts and a tee shirt, as well as some socks. I took to sleeping in socks as it got colder. It's mid-September and the weather is lower than what it was in the Caribbean. I got used to New York for a while, and then for two years after college, John and I went and lived down in Nevis for a while, I've never gotten used to New York again.

I lay down next to John and he pulls the covers over us, then pulls me closer to him. He lays his head on my chest, fiddling with my shirt. I place my hand in his hair and grab a remote so we can watch something. I scroll through the channels, and I'm surprised when John doesn't protest the news. Usually, when he's high, he's main choice is a weird show call The Mighty Boosh, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"How was your day?" I ask as I mute the commercial break.

John shrugs, nuzzling my chest a little bit. "It was okay. Not a lot happened. I got to help some baby seals learn to swim though, so that means I got to swim. Did you do anything?"

"I worked on an important case, had a meeting," I tell him vaguely. "Nothing quite as fun as swimming with baby seals."

John leans around and grabs the box we keep our weed around from our nightstand. We don't bother hiding it from Phillip because we've told him, if he wants to smoke, he can just ask. He pulls out two blunts and a lighter, as well as an ashtray. He sticks one blunt in my mouth and one in his, then lights both of them. I inhale sharply, letting the hot smoke fill my lungs, then exhale with John. We watch the news and quietly smoke together, letting the room fill up with smoke, most likely stinking up that house. That's okay though. I don't mind lying with John, and he is providing us with a hybrid I think, so that means we're both going to have a nice head and body high.

"Hey, Lexi?" He whispers, looking up and letting smoke flow across my face.

"Yeah, gorgeous?" I reply casually.

John looks down again. "Do you still love me?"

"Baby," I say slowly. "Of course I still love you. God, I would still take a bullet for you. If you came to me and asked me for the moon, I would get it for you that night. You are my life, my love, my everything. You could slit my throat and with my last dying breath, I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt. Johnathan Laurens Hamilton, I am still as in love with you as I was in college, and nothing can change that."

John leans up and gently kisses me. He obviously doesn't want to go any farther, because he stops after a few seconds and cuddles back into my chest. I hold him close to me and curl his hair in my fingers. It's not as long as it used to be. He cut it short when he got his promotion at work because his hair was just getting in the way. I cut mine a bit after Phillip was born. I sometimes miss it, but then I remember some of it getting in my coffee and then accidentally chewing it like a horse for a solid three minutes. I was tired that day.

"I love you too," John whispers gently to me. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I do. I still think you're the coolest person. I love you very much. I just..."

"You're hurt," I finish, gently brushing some hair out of his face. I love his curls.

"I'm so hurt," he mumbles, hugging me closer. "You are my first love, Alexander. I am so very infatuated with you. I love everything about you, and I wish I could take you back and keep you to myself. It meant something to me that I was the only one you had ever been with. It meant something to me that we were each other's firsts. You are the only person who has ever seen me in such an intimate way, and for a while, I was the only person who had ever seen you like that for a long time. I just, I love you, Alex, I want you to be mine again."

I hug him close to me, running my hands through his hair. "I'm all yours."

"But you're not," John says, his voice cracking.

I hold his face in my hands and plant a kiss on his lips. "But I am."

John groans and buries his face back into the crook of my neck, holding my hand. "I don't see why I'm even talking about this. I'm not going to remember any of it. I'm really, I'm just, I'm really high."

"Did you drink?" I ask.

He nods. "Not a lot. Just, just a glass."

"You shouldn't drink, Johnny bear," I mumble, kissing his head. "You had been clean for so long. You were doing so well."

"Heartbreak is a bitch," he whispers.

I sigh and squeeze his hand. He's so hurt. I wish I could've changed something about this whole situation. I love him so much, and it kills me to know that he won't remember this, that he relapsed. It makes me feel so bad.

"Hey, pop, should I..." Phillip trails off as he sees the two of us.

"Hey, Pippi!" John says, smiling a bit.

"Should I make dinner?" Pip asks, his voice sounding confused.

"You should just bring up all the snacks and we can all watch a movie instead of the news," John suggests, still smiling.

Phillip nods slowly. "Okay."

When he leaves the doorway, I look down to John, who has the half-smoked blunt in his mouth. "He totally knew you were high."

"He knew you were probably high too, you have a blunt in your mouth," John points out, laughing. "We should let him smoke some weed. I know he already is a little bit of a stoner, so why not let him smoke some with us?"

I kiss John's head and smile. "Yeah, why not?"

Phillip comes back into the room with his arms full of kale chips, regular potato chips, vegan chocolate, carrots, hummus, a couple of pears, a jar of peanut butter. He sets it on the bed and sits next to me. John opens up the kale chips and begins eating them, while smoking still. I just roll my eyes and steel one.

"Phillip, you want us to roll you one?" I ask my kid.

"God, you sound like Eaker," he jokes.

"Who's Eaker?" John asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"He's my friend, and yes I would," Phillip states. I reach over and grab the box, then get out some pot and a few papers. I'm only going to roll Phillip a joint since a blunt would take a lot of weed, and I don't know how high his tolerance is. Assuming that it's kinda high though, I do make sure to roll it fat so Phillip doesn't get skimped out. I'm still a good parent, right?

"Thanks," Phillip mumbles, taking it from me. He lights it up himself and takes a long hit, sighing gently.

"Well aren't you just a pro at this," John points out.

"You guys are acting like my friends, aren't you my parents?" He asks.

"Speaking of that, you better not tell anyone ever that we let you smoke up with us. Personally, I don't think anyone but our closest friends know we still smoke weed, and I'm sure there would be a very indifferent mob at my door," I state.

Phillip nods, taking another hit and letting it blow out of his nose. "Yeah, I got it."

"Why aren't you coughing? Why aren't you excited to be smoking weed? You're a child Phillip, and you're doing the devils lettuce with your parents, be more excited," John complains, looking genuinely confused.

"Ooh, ahh, it burns," Phillip says sarcastically. "When did you guys start smoking weed?"

"Fifteen," I state smoothly. "We were in John's room and I had bought a couple of joints off of a kid we knew at school. John and I sat on the roof of his house and smoked all of them, then ended up passing out up there. We continued, and it did help your pop maintain his drinking, so it never got too bad when we were kids."

John and I have always been very honest with Phillip about our lives. He knows John is a dry alcoholic, he knows I've struggled with depression. We don't want to paint ourselves as perfect because if he begins to struggle with something like that, we don't want him to think we won't understand, or we won't know what to do. Alcoholism and depression run in Phillip's veins. I know he's struggled with depression in fact. He's talked to me about it. I can tell when it's hitting him hardest usually, so I try to make sure he eats and drinks and stuff like that. He used to see a counselor but stopped when he got better. I've asked him if he wants to go on medication, but usually, he said it's just a bit of an episode. I'm gonna ask him again though, just because this is probably a hard time.

"When did you start smoking weed?" John asks Phillip.

Pip shrugs. "I first tried it when I was fourteen. I didn't really start smoking it until fifteen or so, and even then, I never go to school high or anything. I'm safe."

"Look, if you ever need a ride, we'll come to pick you up," I tell him. "We'd prefer if you smoked in the house, but I know we can't control your actions. Just, always have a buddy and be safe, alright?"

Phillip nods and leans back, taking another hit of the joint. "Yeah, I got you."

I sigh and hug my John a bit closer. I know I'll leave at some point tonight, and he'll wake up and probably not even remember this, and we'll go back to our horrible fighting, but at least for now, I can hold him, I can kiss him. I missed him dearly, and I'm glad I have him right now.


	16. John hopes that you burn and Phillip doesn't want his casserole to burn

Phillip

My parents fought all day today. It's Saturday, just five days after that comforting Tuesday we all spent together, having a nice time. September has one more week left, and then at least it'll be October. I'm just gonna put on a pair of tight leather pants and no shirt, then go to Eakers party and be a cat. I'll find someone who can treat me nice, and then we'll be done. It sounds like a nice Halloween to me.

"This is bullshit!" My pop yells.

"John, I'm done fighting with you, I, you're being irrational!" My dad yells back.

I'm sitting on the couch in the living room, a blanket wrapped around me. I don't know why I decided to listen, but I did. Besides, it's nice to sit by the roaring fireplace. I have my phone out so it's not like the only thing I'm doing is listening to them fight. It's more like, it's like they're background noise and my main focus is the Tumblr post I'm reading. I'm really just grateful that they sound as though they're done.

They started fighting about one one thing or another. At this point, I honestly don't care. It seems all they ever do is fight. There was that one time when they were both high and loving, but that was it. It seems right now that the only thing that really can turn my parents into okay people is high amounts of THC and maybe a bit of alcohol. Right now, that's kinda the only thing that makes me feel okay too. Like father like son, I guess. Theo has been reminding me that alcoholism does run genetically in my blood, and I want to be careful. I told her that I get it and that I rarely ever drink. I mostly do pot.

Finally, I hear my dad stomp past the living room and to his office. I jump as he slams the door. Something crashes upstairs, but I ignore it. I feel as though I'm staying on the couch tonight because I don't want to be too far away from either of my parents. From downstairs, I can hear pop sobbing. I don't want to go down there, but at the same time, I feel like I should. I feel like he shouldn't be alone right now.

I carefully stand up and make my way down the steps. I peak at my pop, who is sitting at the table, looking at some papers. They seem to have come from a blue shoe box that sits open on the table. He's crying gently as he reads over the paper, his hand covering his mouth. I see a few pictures, and some more papers and I'm about to make my presence known when my pop picks up his phone and calls someone.

"Hey, Lafayette," he mumbles.

He doesn't say anything, just listens.

"Yeah, I'm okay, I just-" His voice breaks and his begins crying. "I don't know what to do anymore."

The room fills with silence for a second.

He shrugs. "I just, I'm reading all those letters he wrote me, and there were a lot. I'm searching for answers, for clues, for something that would hint to this when he was mine. He said he was mine. I knew, I knew that he was strong, and would fiercely defend his honor, do what it takes to survive. Just, his words flooded my heart, he left me defenseless. He built me palaces out of paragraphs, he built cathedrals. I've re-read the letters he wrote me, he said he was mine. God, I just, the world seems to burn."

A muffled voice is heard from the phone.

"He published the letters Nathan wrote to him," My pop continues. "He told the whole world how he brought this man into our bed. I'm clearing his name, he's ruined our lives. Just, him and his words, obsessed with his legacy. His sentences are practically senseless, and he's obviously paranoid in every paragraph, of how they're perceiving him."

It's quiet again for a bit.

"I don't want to be apart of his narrative. I just, I don't care if people are wondering how I'm reacting to him breaking my heart." My pop places his face in his hands. "He tore it all apart, then let it burn." He looks up. "Just, I didn't publish anything else because the world has no place in my heart, in my bed, I don't want them to know what I'm saying. I'm ridding myself of the memories, the letters that might have redeemed him. He has no right to my heart, to our bed, and he'll sleep in his office until I forgive him, if I forgive him, with only the memories of when he was mine. He, I just, I hope that he burns."

I stand up and head back upstairs to the living room. I wait there for a long time, not talking, just thinking. What did my pop mean by that? Is, is he going to file for divorce? I don't know if I want them to, but I would prefer if they just got alone, which is what everyone kinda wishes I guess. I love my parents, and I wish they could just, they could be together happily, or just smoke more weed so at least our house could be nicer.

Finally, I hear my pop walk upstairs to his room. I make my way down to the kitchen and see the shoebox in the trash can. I pull it out and take it up to my room, making sure to be quiet so no one hears me. My hands are shaking as I take the photos out of the box, as well as the letters. My heart hurts as I look at the images, but in a good way

I almost smile at a picture of them. They're both obviously young before they had me. Their hair is long, and it looks like they're at a party. My pop is smiling and laughing, while my dad tries to lick his cheek and Thomas messes with his hair next to them. Another few of them at graduation, obviously very excited, hugging and smiling. A few more with friends, and then some letters. I can recognize my dad's gorgeous yet wavering handwriting, and then my pop handwriting, with some words a bit misspelled since he has dyslexia. It reminds of when they were happy. It reminds me of when it was nice to live here.

I go through a few more photos, some letters, and then put them back into the box. I place it safely in a drawer in my closet just in case I'm not supposed to have this. I know my dad might notice that the box is gone, but I don't care. I'm not going to lose this. Even if they fall apart and refuse to speak to each other, I'm not letting this go. I just want there to be a reminder that there was a point in my life where I was happy, where my parents were happy.

I lay down on my bed and mentally plan to show up at Sunday dinner tomorrow, even if my dads aren't coming. I haven't really spent time with everyone in a while, about a month and a half, so I do want to see them again. I know my dad will spend the day in his office and my pop will rotate between the kitchen and his room, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to walk to Washington's house with a vegan bean casserole in my arms.

One thing I really like about those Sunday dinners is that they're never like a white barbecue with no seasoning on anything. We usually have culturally diverse meal options all laid out on Washington's large dining room table. He has two foster daughters and a wife, but his table could seat fifteen people, which is the number of people who usually show up. It's usually the Lafayettes, the Jeffersons, the Burrs, Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy, as well as Maria. Eliza and Maria live upstate, so we don't see them as often, but Georges told me that they were coming to this dinner.

I wake up the next morning, sighing as I get out of bed. I get some clean clothes and head to the shower. I groan as I step under the clean water, letting it cascade over my body for a little while before finally beginning my shower routine. I exfoliate my face, then wash and condition my hair. After that I use the weird little rock to get the dead skin off my feet, then I use some body wash and clean myself off. I finally finish, then sit down on the shower floor for a little bit, falling back asleep for a few minutes before waking up because the water is way too hot. That means someone is either doing laundry, washing dishes or flushing the toilet. I take that as my sign to get out of the shower and start cooking.

There's not a lot I can do except prep and then start the beans, so I get to work taking out our crockpot and putting the beans in it. I'm planning to do a hot soak, so that means I have five hours until they'll be done, and then after that, I'll still have to cook the casserole. It's about ten now, so that means I should be done and at Washington's by six thirty. With that information in mind, I begin dicing and preparing the ingredients so when it's time to cook and mix it up, I just do it with no delay. I then make the sauce, which doesn't take too long. I put it in the fridge and then head upstairs and grab my laptop, before coming back to the kitchen to keep my beans company and do my homework.

I still haven't turned in that essay, but Mr. King says that as long as I turn it in before the semester ends, he won't knock off any points for it being late. I get through a paragraph of that before finally deciding to watch an online lecture about the Latin language since I have always found it interesting. I've also found it interesting that everything we write is basically Greek fan fiction. I just love the idea that no one is truly original, and we all just base our stories off of Hermes and Zeus and whatever else we decide.

Five hours pass filled with mostly me writing poetry and publishing it online, as well as talking to friends and finding a ride with the Burrs, who were more than happy to pick me up. Since the beans are done, now I can make the casserole. I mix the beans with the vegetables in the pan, then add the sauce over them before placing them into the oven and setting the timer. I have about half an hour until it's done, so in that time, I head upstairs and put on a white dress shirt and some black pants. I slip a nice golden button up sweater over it, then make my way downstairs and check on my casserole. It's not quite done yet, so I take that time to put my hair up into a bun and add a bit of makeup under my eyes.

Theodosia: Will you be ready to go in ten minutes?

I check my casserole, which is done, then tell her I'm ready whenever they are. I pull the food out of the oven, then put some tin foil over it before grabbing my jacket and slipping on my shoes. I almost forget to tell my parents, but then I'm reminded at the last minute, so I jog upstairs. First, I go into my dad's office, where he sits, hunched over his desk, his hair a mess.

"Hey, dad, I'm headed out," I mumble.

He looks over at me and then cocks his head. "Looking so nice? Where you off to?"

"Sunday dinner," I mumble. "I'll be back at one point tonight, but if I'm not I'm probably at Theo's, yeah?"

He nods. "Is your pop going?"

I shake my head. "No, it's just me."

"Ah." He looks at his desk for a second, then back to me. "Have a good time."

I nod and then head into my pop room, where he sits on his bed, his laptop on, a few papers in front of him. He doesn't have to do a lot of paperwork for his job, but sometimes he has to review vet reviews and make sure it's not all botched or anything.

"Hey, I'm going to Washington's Sunday dinner," I say, pulling on the sleeve of my sweater a little bit.

"Just you?" My pop asks.

I nod. "I figure going alone would be better than picking between the two of you."

He nods. "Okay, have fun."

"Yeah," I mumble, walking out of his room and back downstairs. I grab my casserole as well as a dish towel to put on my lap so it doesn't burn me, then wait for the affirming text that tells me they're outside. That comes only a few minutes later, and soon enough, I'm in the back of the large SUV next to Theo, smiling.

"Hey, Phillip!" Aaron says, smiling in the rearview mirror from the passenger seat. "What did you make?"

"A vegetable and bean casserole with vegan cheese sauce," I inform him, smiling as Dosia pulls the car into the road and begins driving us to Washington's.

"Mm, that sounds amazing," Theo states.

"We've missed you at Sunday dinner, Pip. I was ecstatic to find out you were coming today," Dosia says, looking in the rearview mirror to make eye contact.

I smile softly. "Thank you. I'm glad I'm coming. It seems like forever since I've really had a solid dinner with other people."

I hear Aaron sigh softly.

"Well we can't have that," Dosia announces. "If you are ever looking through the fridge for some food that will hold you over, just take a quick stroll through central park to our place. We'll be happy to have you, Pip. You're like the son I never had."

"Do you want another kid?" Aaron jokes.

"We have another kid, sweetie," Theodosia states, turning the car onto Washington's street. "His name is Phillip and we love him."

"We do love him, Phillip is like my brother," Theo states, smiling at me.

"I literally do not deserve you guys," I mumble, sitting back and chuckling a bit.

"Well don't say that, Phillip," Aaron chimes. "Everyone deserves to be in a loving situation. I'm sorry life at home is a bit hectic right now, but we love you so much, Phillip. We knew you from the day you were born. We were in the hospital because Dosia had given birth a few days earlier. We roomed together, and Alex and John stayed with your surrogate mom for the whole time. We have pictures of you two as little newborns, in the hospital. Pip, have you ever seen those photos?"

"I don't think so," I answer, smiling.

"We'll print you out some copies. They're really nice photos," Dosia states, pulling into the Washington's driveway.

"Thank you," I tell them sincerely.

"Anything for our favorite Hamilton," Burr laughs.

I roll my eyes and step out of the car, holding my casserole. Aaron is holding a big bowl with saran wrap on it, so it's most likely a salad or something.

He and Dosia have a very interesting yet wonderful marriage. Firstly, they're totally in love. Like, they don't even have second thoughts about it. They've been married since their third year of college when Aaron was twenty-three. He, like my dad pop, is forty-seven now and has been happily married for twenty-four years. One night, I heard him and my dad talking, and my dad asked him if he ever had second thoughts about her, since they met and seemed to just dive right into their love. Aaron told my dad that he never had ever had a second thought. That loving Dosia was just natural to him. He met the girl when he was young, and loved her instantly. Another thing I like about the two of them, is they always encourage each other to do what they love. Dosia is a math professor at Columbia, but she loves art too. Burr always makes sure she has enough supplies and encourages her to paint and collage and draw and do whatever she wants. Aaron himself likes to cook, a lot. Dosia always tries his new recipes, and even when they aren't that good, she'll tell him they're wonderful because she just wants him to know how wonderful he is, even if he can't make Asian food for shit.

"The Burrs!" Washington says, opening the door. "And, is that Phillip? Pip, my boy, it's been a while! Come in, come in."

"I'm sorry I haven't been very good at coming over. My ride situation isn't the best because I can't drive," I laugh, walking into the kitchen to set down my casserole.

"Don't worry about it, we're just glad you're here. Come, let's go to the living room," Washington state's, smiling as he places his hand on my shoulder. I go into the living room to see the Lafayette's and the Jefferson's already there, as well as Angelica and her husband.

"Phillip!" Angelica says happily. "It's been so long! Oh my gosh, you've gotten taller, and your hair is growing like a weed. It was just past your ears last time I saw you."

I laugh. "Hey, aunt Angie. It's nice to see you."

"Hey kid," my uncle Church says, smiling and pulling me into a hug. "You look tall. Are you taller than your parents now? They're both pretty short."

"Taller than my dad, just as tall as my pop. Don't think I'm gonna grow much more, but I don't mind," I say, laughing.

"Hey, Phillip," Thomas states, standing and hugging me.

I hug James next, then Peter, who leaves an almost lingering kiss on my cheek. I almost want to smack his arm for that burst of public affection, but then I remember he's a bit of a Francophile, so it's most likely going to pass off as a French greeting.

"Pip, you look thinner," Hercules comments. "Let's get some food in ya, yeah?" He brings his hand down on my shoulder and I almost fall over.

"Herc, darling, you're about to kill the poor boy," Lafayette says, smiling as he embraces me and kisses my cheeks. "It's good to have you here Phillip."

"Hiya, Georgie," I say, smiling as I plop down on the floor next to him. "What's shakin,' eggs and bacon?"

He rolls his eyes but smiles at me. "Not much you silly little boy."

Theo plops down on the other side of me, then looks to Angie. "Hey, auntie, when are Liza and Mars getting here?"

"Well, they texted me and said they'd be here five minutes ago, but we have to factor in the fact that gays can't do math, so she'll probably be arriving in another five minutes or so." Angie looks to me and smiles. "How's school going, kid? I haven't heard from you in a while."

"Heh, sorry for being absolutely terrible at staying in contact," I joke.

She waves her hand dismissively. "Psh, your parents are shit at it too."

I nod. "No, uh, it's going great. I'm getting okay grades, except English, because I suck at English all the time."

"A Hamilton? Being bad in English class? Never heard of it," Thomas laughs.

"It's just because he hasn't turned in his essay," Georges says, tickling my side a bit.

"Fight me, I just think the assignment is stupid," I state.

"Well, what's the assignment?" Washington asks.

"I'm supposed to write about the most stupid boring and immature play in history," I complain. "Seriously, it's so dumb and childish, I don't know why they even teach it. There are so many great plays that are so important to the world, yet we teach this stupid bullshit."

"Language," Aaron scolds.

"What play is it?" Dosia asks.

"Romeo And Juliet," I mumble, rolling my eyes at just the name.

"How could you not like that play though?" Lafayette gushes, leaning into Hercules. "It's about forbidden love, truly beautiful, amazing. Like being gay almost, but straight."

I snort. "Forbidden love my ass. If you want forbidden love, A Midsummer's Night's Dream is the play you need to read. Romeo And Juliet is just an overly drawn out version of two horny teens trying to get it on. Shakespeare has written many beautiful plays, sonnets, poems, but Romeo And Juliet is not part of that."

"Phillip is right," Washington pipes up. "It is basically about two young adults attempting to fornicate, and then wishing to do so even more as forces such as their parents attempt to make them part. It's a lust filled story that truly does not have a proper place in literary practices, especially for high schoolers."

"Sorry, we're late!" We hear a voice chime. Eliza walks into the living room, Maria on her arm. "You know this one couldn't drive if her life depended on it."

"Aunt Eliza!" I exclaim, standing up and embracing her. She is one of my favorite aunts. She's always been so kind to me and makes me feel so welcomed and safe. Her and aunt Maria are some of my favorite people. It's kinda like I have two dads and two moms since Eliza and Maria never had children but always helped with me.

"Phillip! You've grown since I last saw you!" She exclaims, holding me at shoulder length. "Taller, like your pop, and oh, what is that?" She licks her thumb then swipes it on my chin and upper lip. "Is that facial hair? My little Pip, you look so wonderful!"

"Babe, you're hogging him," Maria whines.

Eliza lets me go and I'm instantly hugged by Maria. I've always loved Maria's hugs because she's a bit squishy, which makes her hugs so incredibly warm and soft. She smells like coconut and happiness, which is a strange way to describe her scent, but it's true.

"We are going to be staying in downtown Manhattan until Christmas is over, so we need to spend some time with our favorite nephew, no offense Georges and Peter, and catch up. Does that sound nice?"

I nod eagerly. "Anything to get out of the house."

Maria bites her lip, then hugs me again, a bit tighter, before Washington announces that it is officially time to eat dinner. We all make our way into the dining room, where Martha has set out the food, without any covering on it. I was right, Burr made a quinoa looking salad. I see spring rolls that no doubt, Angie made. Eliza and Maria must've brought the Italian food, and no doubt the Jefferson's brought the macaroni. Ten bucks says that the Lafayette's made the sushi, which half of seems to be vegetarian at least. George and Martha must've made the fried green tomatoes and cornbread biscuits.

"Phillip made the bean casserole all by himself," Dosia boasts. She takes a bite of the bit she had piled on her plate. "Mm, it is so good, Pip."

I blush and look down. "Thank you."

"Angie, how's Pegs?" Aaron asks.

"Oh, she's doing great, actually. I saw her for a few days when I was back in London," Angie starts. "She's really enjoying her job. I saw her off to the airport where she was catching a flight to Madagascar to shoot a few photos for TIME. She's still working for mainly National Geographic though."

"Where's she keeping herself?" Eliza asks, her mouth full of something.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Liz, and wipe your chin," Angelica scolds. "No, but I asked her the same question, and she just said wherever. I don't really know what that means, so I wish I could give you an answer, but..."

"Oh, actually I was just talking to her," Dosia states. "Told me she's mostly living in hostels or camping. Says she has her camera, her backpack, and her sheer determination. Gotta give the girl credit, she's killing it."

"I swear," Eliza mutters. "She grew up with everything and refuses to accept it."

"That's what I want to do," I stick out, standing up for Peggy, who honestly had a very cool life in my eyes. "I'd kill to just, live like that. Travel, take photos, write, it sounds awesome. Of course, I want to work for art magazines."

"I swear, more people are being born artists," George jokes, sitting back and smiling, winking at me to show that it was playful banter.

"I hope we become a nudist socialist society with no pot laws and raging capitalists being roasted on a stick for our leisurely dining," Lafayette announces.

The table gets real quiet for a second.

"I second that," Theo mumbles, smiling.

"Can I have wine?" I ask, eyeing the bottle in front of me.

"You'll have to ask your parents," Angie drawls sarcastically.

I pause a second, then smile. "They say yes."

"Hold on, let me pour it for you, I don't want to send you home drunk," Burr says, taking the wine and pouring it into my cup until it's halfway full.

"Please, he's a Hamilton. The kid's tolerance for alcohol is already higher than my tolerance for my dad's bullshit," Thomas jokes. "Which is pretty high at this point."

"I'm not testing that," Burr mumbles.

"Can I have wine?" Theo asks.

"Hold on, I want wine," Peter states.

"I'm French, so I already have some, but liberation!" Georges cheers. "Everyone drinks or no one drinks! A la revolution!"

"Lafayette, control your child," Thomas states as Dosia passes him the bottle of wine after filling up Theo's glass.

"Hey, I ain't about to stop my kid from starting a revolution. I'm a supportive parent," Lafayette says. "It's Herc's job to stop the overthrow of the American government."

"Thirty years ago, I would've helped," he states.

"We don't talk about thirty years ago, baby," Lafayette states.

"What was thirty years ago?" Peter asks.

"We used to have a president who was very, very, very bad," George states, shuddering. "He was openly a white nationalist, a racist, a white capitalist asshole. He basically stood against everything being an American was for."

"Is he dead now?" I ask.

Thomas smiles. "He had a heart attack, in public, while speaking in support of Nazis. He said 'if I'm wrong that these aren't bad people, then God can strike me dead. God can strike me dead.' Then moments later, he got a heart attack and died in front of all the Nazis."

"Good riddance," Theo laughs.

Dinner goes on, people laughing and having a genuinely nice time. I laugh, talk to friends, and listen to the adult's stories from college. My parents come up occasionally, but I get the feeling that people are mostly avoiding thinking or talking about them right now. I don't blame them, I do the same thing. Besides, I really don't want to be thinking about them right now. It's been a while since I've been this happy, since I've felt this loved and accepted, and I don't want to ruin that by thinking about my parents. They just, I don't know, I don't want to think about them. Maybe that's bad, but I don't care.

"Hey, Pip, come on a walk with us," Eliza and Maria state. "We'll drop you off at home after, we already talked to the Burr's."

I nod, smiling as I get up and walk to the mudroom with them, slipping on my jacket, since it's getting colder out. Maria and Eliza get on their coats and we step into the fresh New York evening air. You can almost see the stars, but it's not really dark or clear enough yet to get a good picture.

"C'mon, let's walk to the park down Washington's block," Eliza says, smiling as we begin our trek. "Pip, how's school?"

I shrug. "I'm making it through. I'm taking two AP classes, which are kicking my ass, but I'm keeping up with the homework."

"Making friends?" Maria asks.

I shrug. "I got Theo and Georges, as well as a few other people I hang out with. I've been pretty busy though, so there hasn't been a lot of time to do some serious socializing. How's your place in Albany? Where are you guys staying now?"

"Our place in Albany is good. Still working on the painting, but other than that, any major fixes are done, fixed, you know," Maria explains.

"We're staying in one of my father's penthouses," Eiza answers. "We told him we were coming down and he welcomed us into his penthouse in Manhattan. We're just a subway ride from your place actually."

We enter the park fence gates and I sigh. "God, I haven't been in here since..." I trail off, thinking about the time Georges, Theo, Peter and I stole a bottle of champagne and shared it while lying on the grass. "Since forever."

"Me too," Maria nods. "It has to have been years."

We all sit down on the frosty grass and bask in the silence for a second, looking up at the vividly colored sky, sighing. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Maria and Eliza share a look, then both look to me.

"If you want to ask about my parents, just do it," I say, looking at them.

"We didn't want to make you uncomfortable," Maria mentions.

I shrug. "It's fine. Ask away."

"Are they fighting?" Eliza questions.

I laugh. "Constantly. I think they fight because they can't fuck anymore or something. At this point, it's ridiculous. Like, it's been about a month and a half, what else do they have to say? What else is there to say?"

"Did they bring you into it?" Maria asks gently.

I shrug. "They fight about me, and my pop once tried to get me to, well, like, fight against my dad, and I didn't. Then I did, but that was later."

"You look different," Maria comments. "Like, yeah you've grown and what not, but you just, you look sadder, thinner. Like, like something inside of you is just feeling empty and hollow or something. Hurt. You just, I dunno, maybe I'm spewing bullshit, but you just don't seem like the Phillip Hamilton I saw just a few months ago.

I laugh bitterly. "Shit is so fucked, Maria, I'm just sick of feeling like this."

"I'm sorry this is happening, Phillip," Eliza mumbles, hugging me into her chest. "You don't deserve that. It sounds like both your dad and your pop are in the wrong with you right now. Keep in mind, we are really just a subway ride away."

I sigh. "Everything is rough right now, and I got my own whole ass drama that's going on that's totally unrelated to my parents."

"Ooh, tea, spill," Maria says, sitting closer.

"Mars, you can't just say tea when Phillip is obviously going through something," Eliza scolds. "It's impolite."

I laugh. "No, it's okay. Um, it's about Georges."

"Relationship troubles?" Maria asks.

I crease my eyebrows. "We, we aren't even dating though."

"You aren't?" Eliza gasps. She looks at Maria. "I want my ten dollars back."

I groan. "No, he and I aren't dating, but I think he has feelings for me, which kinda sucks ass in multiple ways."

"Why does that suck ass?" Maria asks.

I shrug. "I just, I don't think he and I would be good with dating each other. He's a bit judgy of me, and he's hurt my feelings a lot, of course, I forgive him, but like, I just feel like I couldn't date someone who's made me feel so bad about myself."

"But at the same time..." Eliza trails off, waiting for me to answer.

"But at the same time, I kinda like him too," I groan. "I never catch feelings for people, like, ever. The last time I had a crush I was six and it was Luke Skywalker, which is weird because he was really old when I was six. I just, I'm so conflicted because there are so many moving parts right now, and I don't know what to do."

"You want my advice?" Maria says, taking Eliza's hand.

I nod, desperately.

"Relationships are not your thing right now," she states. "You're conflicted with Georges, yes, but you have a lot going on right now. It sounds like Georges is just causing unnecessary drama, especially since he is judging you and making you feel bad about yourself. I would suggest taking a break or distancing yourself from Georges a bit, focusing on yourself, loving yourself. What makes you feel good about yourself?"

I shrug.

"Have you ever tried a one night stand?" Maria asks.

I snort.

Eliza almost screams. "Maria! You can't tell our sixteen-year-old nephew to go get some dick! That's not how we're supposed to help him!"

I roll my eyes. "That's actually what I usually do."

"See?" Maria points out. "He's just like me."

Eliza rolls her eyes. "As long as you are being safe, then it's okay. Just, be safe."

I nod. "I am, I am."

Maria lies back on the grass. "What are your plans for Christmas?"

I shrug. "I am not making plans that go past seven days. Truthfully, anything could happen in this time, so, I'm not making plans. If things are the same though. It'll probably just be me at the Washington's."

"I think this year we should have a big Christmas at Washington's place," Maria mentions. "I think it would be nice to just spend time together. Is Peggy coming home for Christmas?"

Eliza shrugs. "Maybe, I don't know. I'll ask."

I sigh. "I love you guys."

"We love you too, Pip," Maria answers. "No matter what."


	17. Sometimes guys can be nice to Phillip and you know what? That's really good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, not to spill tea or anything, but Peter Jefferson and Theo Burr are my two favorite characters in this book. They both just,,,, nice.

/Phillip/

I sit on the couch in the living room, my laptop on my lap, facing me. It's a nice Tuesday afternoon, and since that Sunday dinner reminded me that I had an aunt who was basically living my dream life, I am currently talking to her via FaceTime. Peggy had the day off today, so she is in no hurry to go do something else, which is nice.

"So you want to be a photographer?" She asks, amused.

I hum. "Yeah, though, mostly a writer, do you have any tips on how to get hired by a magazine or something?"

"Put together a digital and physical profile, with photos, samples of your writing," she explains. "What magazine do you want to work for?"

"Art Forum would be cool," I state.

"That's actually perfect, I have a lot of connections over there because I worked for them a while back. When you are ready to start working, I'll put in a good word for you," Peggy says, smiling. "I've read some of your writing though, and I think you'd be exactly what they're looking for."

I smile. "Really?"

She nods. "How's life going?"

I shrug. "As good as it can be, right now."

She gives me a sympathetic look. "I heard. I'm sorry that this is going on. You know, your parents have rarely gotten into really big fights, but whenever they do, they never handle it very well. They never got very good at that."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my curiosity peaked.

"Well, in college they got into a really big fight about, God, I don't even know really. I asked them about it once, and they said something about like, stress or something. Anyway, they didn't talk for like, two weeks. Alex barely ate a slept half of that time, John was a drinking mess," Peggy explains. "And then a few weeks before you were born, they got into a huge fight, like, really big. Like, John was questioning whether they should even have a kid together. They made up a few days before they got the call that your surrogate mom was in labor."

"So, what you're saying is..." I trail off.

"They fight, and they're incredibly bad about fixing things. Granted, this problem is bigger than most, but kid, if you want my honest opinion, they're gonna be okay. They love each other. Just, when I get back for Christmas, I'm gonna tell them to go to marriage counseling or something. You don't deserve to be in a house where they fight."

"You really think they're gonna stay together?" I ask.

She nods. "They, they love each other. Alex made a mistake, but believe me, it's not like John has never done anything like this."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You can't tell your parents I'm telling you this, capische?" She asks.

I nod. "Capische."

"Okay, so back in college, John was still casually drinking for parties sometimes. You know he's an alcoholic and has always had trouble really quitting," Peggy explains. "Anyway, Alex had stayed and hung out at Lafayette's dorm, and it was really only John and me at this party. So, I'm dancing, and I look over to check on John, who had been drinking, and I see him on a frat couch full on making out and grinding-

I cut her off. "That's different from what my dad did though."

She pauses. "How so?"

"My pop, he was drunk off his mind probably, and he only did it once. My dad though, he was sober the whole time since he already doesn't really drink. He did it an entire summer. I just, I think it's different," I finish.

"Cheating is cheating though, and John did this more than once," Peggy points out. "Neither of them are innocent. The main point I think I am gonna try to make to them when I come back home is to grow up and stop acting like this. I get it, they're having a tough time, but they can't do this bullshit anymore. They have a child who they are directly affecting when they fight, and they need to realize that and grow a pair. Go to counseling."

I nod. "You're right. I just, I miss my parents being my parents."

"My god!" Peggy exclaims. "I didn't even think about that! Are they even taking care of you? Talking to you?"

I shrug. "Sometimes. I'm usually cooking, bringing meals up to my parents. I get rides to places I need to be, and I get myself to school. It's getting colder, so I'm usually walking ten blocks down to get to a subway station, then taking it to the stopover on 103rd, which is three blocks down and two blocks over from school. Sometimes Georges gives me a ride, but that's only when he wakes up early enough."

"Hold on, your dad should be dropping you off at the station. I know he works downtown, so it's on his way, and he has no excuse of why he shouldn't. Tell him to start giving you rides," Peggy states.

"I can't just tell him-"

She cuts me off. "You're his child. You get to tell him that you need a ride to a Subway station. If he says no, just start stealing money from him to pay for an Uber. Lord knows your dad can afford to lose three dollars a day so his son can stay warm."

I laugh. "Thanks, aunt Pegs." I'm about to say more when I hear the door slam and yelling. "I gotta go, aunt Pegs. I love you."

"Wait, Pip," she starts.

"I'm sorry," I interrupt her. "I just, I need to leave. I'm sorry."

I hang up and quickly make my way downstairs, where my dad and my pop are yelling. My dad's laptop is open on the counter, open, so I know he was probably working. My pop looks mad, my dad looks mad. Everyone is mad and angry and I literally just want to diffuse the situation as fast as I can.

"Why the fuck would you hide this from me?" My pop yells.

"I wasn't hiding it from you!" My dad counters. "We're not talking! It's not like I could just poke my head into our room and tell you about my life at the moment!"

"But seriously? Working on a case for the man you cheated on me with?" My pop questions, looking pissed.

"I told him to!" I yell, making sure my voice is heard. "Theo told me about Nathan's situation and I got mad at him and I told him to help!"

"He's right," My dad states. "My name isn't even going onto the case, I'm basically an over-informed intern! I'm not even going to see Nathan until I testify!"

"I'm sorry, am I the only one who thinks all of this is weird and not okay at all?" My pop asks. "Like, you are literally helping the man you slept with get a divorce!"

"His husband is abusive, John, and I have evidence of that, not helping would be like, like sentencing him to the abuse for the rest of his life!" My dad exclaims.

"Yeah, but he has James and Lafayette, and Aaron helping him, why the fuck does he need you? You said it yourself; your name isn't even going on the case, why does it matter whether you help him or not?" My pop snaps, glaring.

"Because I'm the only one he's gotten intimate with!" My dad replies.

A silence falls over the dining room. We all knew it, we just didn't think my dad would say it. We didn't think he'd just admit it without a second thought.

"Out of this group of lawyers working for him, I'm the only one who's gotten intimate with Nathan," my dad continues. "I'm the only one who has seen the man totally undressed, bruises littering his body. I am an eyewitness! So it doesn't matter if you don't like it if you don't think I should be helping if you think I'm going to cheat on you again! I'm going the help Nathan Hale get out of an abusive relationship, and that's all I'm going to do with him. I don't care what our opinion on this is, John, because quite frankly, it's fucked up that you would let a man quite possibly stay trapped in an abusive marriage because you don't want me helping!"

"You're such a fucking prick, Alexander," my pop growls. "Have you ever stopped and just once thought about what I'm going through? The humiliation of knowing that not only did my husband cheat on me, but he published it so the whole fucking world can see!"

"That's usually the only thing I'm thinking about!" My pop yells. "You think I don't regret this? You think I don't look at my rushed, half-assed and clearly not thought through actions and feel anything besides regret?"

"Actually, yeah, I do, because obviously, somewhere inside of that fucked up brain of yours, you want to remind people that you would never betray your company. That nothing is more important to you than your financial honesty!" My pop yells. "You took some stupid feud with Monroe and blew it up to massive proportions!"

"This wasn't about some feud!" My dad argues. "This was about my career! How do you not see that? I didn't do it for any other reason but to secure my job!"

"That's exactly my point! You just, you had to secure your fucking legacy! All with that stupid poorly written pamphlet! Not only have you broken my trust, ruined our marriage, hurt our kid, and destroyed our lives, but it wasn't even your best work. It was rushed, sloppy, and frankly, sounded like something a twisted politician would write after being accused of something he did," my pop states.

My dad takes a step towards my pop but stops when he holds up his hand.

"Don't take another step in my direction, I can't be trusted around you," my pop states.

"John, you can't just block me out, we need to ta-"

My pop laughs. "Don't think you can talk your way into my arms. You published the letters he wrote to you, you told the whole world how you bought this man into our bed, I'm clearing your name, you've ruined our lives!"

"They were going to tell the world I was embezzling funds!" My dad snaps.

I flinch at his tone, pretty sure they forgot I was standing right here.

"Oh heaven forbid someone whisper that you're part of some big embezzling plan! Your enemies whisper, so you have to scream! I know about whispers. I've seen how you looked at Angelica." My pop runs his hand through his hair and stops my dad from saying more. "Don't. I'm not naive. I have seen people around you. Don't think I don't see how they fall for your charm, all your fucking charm!"

"John, you can't just act like this at home and then pretend everything is fine in public," my dad points out snidely. "Make a fucking move. Go ahead, say something."

"I'm not putting myself in this narrative. Everyone can wonder how I'm reacting since you broke my heart. You've thrown our lives away, stand back so you can see how they burn!" My pop laughs almost, tears coming down his cheeks. "I can't believe that I'm the one whos been explaining to Phillip the pain and embarrassment that you've put me through."

"It was for my legacy!" My dad argues.

"When will you learn?" My pop gestures to me. "He is your legacy, we are your legacy! I thought you were mine!"

Finally, I snap a little bit. My head is spinning from anger as I stand there and listen to my parent's fight. They do it in front of me carelessly. They don't mind that I've been standing there the whole time, listening to them as they argue and fight and bicker.

"Don't!" I yell. "I'm sick of this! Do you guys have any idea what it's like to have to listen to your parents fighting day in and day out? To not have anyone there for you to make sure you know it's gonna be okay? I do! I'm sick of this! What are you going to fix or change by yelling? You think you're just going to yell all your problems away? You two act like children when you argue, and I can have other people confirm that for me! You don't want a fucking solution! Neither of you does! You don't want to fix things, you're just acting like mad petty teenagers! You are not fucking teenagers anymore! You have a child, goddammit! Go to counseling, get a divorce, split, whatever! I don't fucking care at this point! Just, just stop! This is complete and utter bullshit!"

"Phillip, watch your language," my dad snaps.

"Wow." I laugh. "You're just going to discount everything I just said because I cursed? Fuck you! Fuck all of you! Fuck this shit!"

"Phillip Hamilton!" My pop scolds.

I roll my eyes. "You all are full of shit! You haven't given a damn about me in a month! You, you guys are just, fuck you! God, I hate this! I hate you!"

"You don't mean that," my dad sighs, running his hand through his hair.

"Why shouldn't I?" I spit, stomping my foot. "All you do is fight, you're mean, you're shit parents! Pop, you're so full of shit and you don't even want to see it! Dad, you literally ruined this fucking family and you're still making excuses! I just, do something about this! Fix this! I'm so sick of you guys fighting all of the time. It's such fucking, God, I just, I hate it!" Tears are rolling down my cheeks at this point, but my voice remains steady. "You don't, you don't even see what it's doing to me! You're the only one who doesn't see it though! Everyone fucking noticed at dinner over the weekend! You just, God, you don't fucking get it!"

"Phillip-"

I interrupt my dad. "No, you know what? I'm going out."

"You can't just leave," my pop argues.

"Actually, I can, I have been," I state, walking over to the door and getting on my shoes and coat. "You guys, you just never noticed."

"Well, at least tell us where you're going," my dad calls out.

I roll my eyes. "Out. Jefferson's or something. Maybe a friend. I don't know."

I really don't. I don't have a place in mind, but I do know I'm going down to the Subway station to cool down for a bit, then decide where I'm headed. The walk to the Subway station is quick, and I end up sitting on the bench after hopping the turnstile since I couldn't pay for a ticket. Usually, if you're under thirty, you can get away with it. If you're older than thirty, you have to make sure no one is looking. I'm untangling my earbuds, ready to just tune out the world for a few hours when I get a text from Peter.

Peter: Hey, I'm out and about, you want me to pick you up so we can fuck?

Me: More than you think. I'm at the subway station over on 66th street. See you soon.

Peter: Aight, Hamilton, see you soon.

I sit in the subway station for a while longer, watching the homeless go by, the occasional businessman, a few students most likely. I've always enjoyed the subway because it's so easy to just be. No one is paying attention to you, no one is thinking about you. Above ground, there are wars, racism, sexism, homophobia, hate, but here, in this grimy New York subway station, there is only dirty concrete, the air thick with the smell of piss, and the almost pattern like sound of the screeching train pulling into the station. The only goal people have is to get on the train, get off the train, catch their train. It's almost liberating really. The temperature is hotter than hell, your nose is clogged with the smell of vape, piss, tobacco, dust, and vomit. It's loud but not in a way you can identify. You know it's loud, you just don't know how. The ground shakes every few minutes, even when a train isn't pulling into the station. Is it an earthquake? I don't know. Somewhere, someone is playing a saxophone. Looking around, I can see any saxophone players, so the sound must be carrying through the tunnels. The tourist family you just saw get on the train? They got off the next train that pulled up. New kid, same parents. Someone will yell out 'Graham! Wait up!' About eight people will stop and look around. A third of the New York population is named Graham, and they are always in the subway station.

I get the text from Peter that he's here, so I stand up and walk up the steps of the subway to the grimy streets of New York. Just like that, things are normal again. In all honesty, I think New York subway stations are on a different plane of reality because when you're down there, things are just different from anywhere else you could possibly be.

"Hey, Pippi," Peter smiles as I get into his car.

"Hey, man," I say, smiling.

"Don't 'man' me, I'm about to fuck you," Peter laughs, pulling into the road and heading in the direction of his house.

"Don't tell me what to do," I shoot back quickly.

He just laughs. "Why don't you get your license? You're almost seventeen, you could get it if you wanted."

I shrug. "I don't want to get it though. I don't see why I need to drive when I have an army of men who will very easily drive me anywhere I was as long as I promise a blowjob."

Peter rolls his eyes. He's driving through one of the few roads that cut through the central park, so it's nice to look outside and see nature. Growing up in New York, I haven't exactly been on many nature walks, so I've always liked central park for that reason. It's pleasant.

"You're pretty, Phillip Hamilton," Peter states.

I groan. "Wow, way to ruin the moment, you sentimental fuck."

"Hey, I should be allowed to compliment you!" Peter defends. "It's not like I wanna marry you or anything, though we are emotionally and intellectually compatible. I do think you're pretty though, Phillip. Do you?"

I roll my eyes. "Why should I?"

"Because you are," Peter answers, pulling onto his street. "You let yourself get treated like shit though, and I don't know why."

"Everyone's an asshole, Peter," I mutter, silently excluding Theo, Aaron, and Dosia. "That's just how life works. If I wanted to be treated like a prince, I'd marry into the royal family."

"Do you really think that?" Peter asks.

I nod. "I do."

"Well," says Peter, pulling into his driveway. "I think you're hanging out with the wrong people, eh?"

I roll my eyes. "Thank you for your concern."

We make our way into his house, then up to his room. His dads aren't there, just the cat that sits leisurely on the kitchen counter, meowing quietly as Peter gives it a small pat on the head. I would pet it but I'm slightly allergic to cats, and I wouldn't want my eyes to get all red and watery while I'm being fucked.

Once we're in his room, we don't waste a second getting it on. It's nice truly. I do like fucking Peter, because even if he's not sweet, he's, well, he's just nice. I can count on him not taking pity on me, I can count on his room always smelling like Axe and vanilla candles. I can count on him to lie on his back and expect me to ride him, which I never minded. I just, I can count on him to be fully and entirely, Peter Jefferson.

All is going well. I'm riding Peter, he's gripping my thighs, most likely hard enough to leave bruises, especially with my iron deficiency. I'm touching myself, my hair is down and falling around my face, sticking to my forehead. I'm getting closer, and my moans are getting louder. I'm thankful his parents aren't here, because truthfully, they most definitely would've heard me by now. Peter is obviously very grateful too, seeing as when his parents usually are here, he has to shove his fingers in my mouth to muffle me, and I like to bite.

"Fuck!" I moan loudly. "I'm close!"

"Come on baby, for daddy," Peter grunts.

"Ah! Ah! Georges, fuck!" I moan, coming all over Peter's chest. A few seconds later, he's coming and then pulling out of me. I flop down on the bed, sighing heavily. My chest is rising and falling rapidly and I haven't yet processed exactly what I said or how loud I said it.

"Georges, eh?" Peter mumbles lightly.

"Huh?" I look over at him, watching as he wipes come off of his chest and stomach.

"You, you moaned Georges name as you, well, finished, is there something I should know?" Peter asks, smiling.

"Oh, shit, I, uh, I'm sorry," I stutter, sitting up.

"Hey," Peter says, pulling me back down. "Relax. We ain't fucking for love, I ain't paying you. You're doing this because you want to and I want to, so if there's someone you have in mind that particular day, don't bite your tongue. I don't care."

I laugh, cuddling up to Peter's chest. "Mmf, thanks."

"Are your and Georges dating?" He asks, running his fingers through my hair.

I shake my head, drawing a little circle on Peter's chest with my finger. "No, not even close. I think he has feelings for me, but..."

"But he's a dick," Peter states bluntly.

"He's not that bad, he just doesn't like you very much," I mumble.

"Because we have sex, and he doesn't like that you have sex with other people," Peter continues. "You know, you're in a Devil Wears Prada situation right now."

"What does that mean exactly?" I ask, laughing.

"You fuck people, and that's fine. It's not your life, just your hobby, right?" Peter asks, reaching down and placing his hand on my thigh.

I nod.

"The people you fuck, they have no problem with the fact that they're not the only one." He gently taps his fingers on my thigh. "Even Theo, who is also my friend in case you couldn't tell, has absolutely no problem with you sleeping with other guys. The only person who does have a problem with it is Georges, and that's because it in no way benefits him."

"You make him sound so materialistic, he's not like that," I try and defend.

"He's a man," Peter groans. "He likes you, and you obviously only have sexual and platonic feelings for him. When Anne Hathaway was faced with a situation like this, she changed herself to be liked by her original man, when truthfully, he should've supported her. Georges, he, it doesn't matter if he doesn't like what you're doing. It really doesn't. He should either be supportive or say nothing of it. Pip, I just think, I think you are a really great person, you're one of my closest friends, and you sure as hell don't deserve to be judged for something that makes you feel happy. I know things are tough for you right now, I see that, and I want you to feel good." He pauses, chuckling. "And if I get something out of that, great."

"You totally just ruined your speech, asshole," I laugh, playfully smacking his chest.

"Maybe so," Peter nods. "Just, you, you are good, and you deserve to be with people who know just how good you are. I don't think Georges can see that."

I groan, hugging Peter a bit closer. "Why is everyone so complicated? You and me? We're simple, we fuck, and we're friends. Everyone else? The like, they have romantic attachments to people. It's disgusting."

"Incredibly nasty. I don't see the attraction of that. I get plenty out of this friendship, so why should I want to date some Susanna Adams?" Peter lets out a long groan. "She's not even funny! I just, ugh, people are stupid, Pip."

"Very stupid," I mutter, closing my eyes.

"Can you promise me something?" Peter quietly requests.

"Maybe," I reply, knowing that I'm very bad with keeping promises but hoping what he asks me to do will be easy enough.

"Please, just, be unapologetically Phillip. Like, be yourself and don't let anyone make you feel bad for that, okay?" He whispers, his voice almost hoarse.

I pause a second, then smile sweetly as I lean up and kiss his jaw. "Okay, daddy, I promise, I'll be unapologetically myself."

Peter snorts. "I like it when you call me that."

"Oh, really? Whatever could've tipped me off that you like that?" I mumble sarcastically. Peter only laughs, pulling me closer and grabbing my butt in the process.

"Peter! We're home!" Someone calls out.

"Shit, my parents," Peter mutters. "Get dressed, quick."

"Getting dressed quick is one of my few talents," I mutter, quickly slipping on my boxers and jeans.

"I'm in my room with Phillip!" Peter calls back, slipping on an old pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. I grab my shirt and slip it over my head, then sit on Peter's beanbag, letting myself sink in comfortable just as Thomas sticks his head through the door.

"Hey, Phillip, hey Peter, how are you..." He trails off, looking at the both of us. "Were you two just doing some unholy actions?"

We both freeze, then I chuckle nervously. "Why would you think that?"

"The ripped condom package on the nightstand, the thick smell of sweat and after sex, the fact that Pip's hair is down when it is usually up, and the fact that y'all just..." Thomas waves his hand at us, vaguely, not really answering the questions but answering it all at the same time.

"I'm gonna jump out the window," Peter mutters.

Thomas rolls his eyes. "James is making dinner, so I'll call you two out when that's done. Just, don't, don't do anything you wouldn't want God to see you do."

Thomas closes the door and I snort. "Too late."

"Gross, my dad knows I have sex," Peter mutters, scowling.

I roll my eyes. "I had my dad give me the talk of the birds and bees three days after he self-published his own sex scandal, you are going to be fine. Also, my dad published his own sex scandal, the only thing worse than your dad knowing you have sex is knowing your dad has sex." I shudder. "Vomit inducing."

"How, how are you doing, by the way? How's that going?" Peter asks quietly as I stand up and flop back down on his bed.

I groan. "Everyone asks me that. It's going shitty. Everything sucks. My home life is trash and getting worse. My parents don't want to fix anything, they just want to fight, and to make it even better, I think they're trying to win my love so when this goes to court I pick them over the other. Literally, the reason I was out of the house today was that we all got into a huge argument and I left."

"Jesus, Pip," Peter mumbles, laying next to me. "That sounds like shit."

I shrug. "Eh, at least I can leave and get some dick."

"You think you use sex as a coping mechanism?" He asks, placing his hand on my thigh. "Like, do you?"

I nod. "Probably."

"Just..." Peter pauses, patting my thigh. "Stay safe, a'ight? If you ever need me to come to pick you up, don't hesitate to call."

"Thanks," I mumble quietly. I turn onto my side and cuddle into him, closing my eyes and relaxing there for a little bit. It's nice to know that in this messed up world, I can at least have a few moments of peace when I'm with friends.


	18. Alex just wants to work and Phillip just wants to sleep but nooooooo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes,,,,,, alcohol,,,,, makes this,,,,,,, worse,,,,,,

TW: Violence

Alex

John has been gone for three hours doing God knows what. Phillip came back from the Jefferson's about an hour ago and is currently up in his room. I'm sitting at the kitchen counter, doing my work. Well, actually, I'm just scrolling through Snapchat, checking up on my friend's stories, though they aren't really my friends anymore, are they?

Something catches my eye on Eliza's story. I realize she's back in town because she's in her old penthouse, the one her and her sisters lived at during college. She and Maria are there, and the caption says she's gonna be there until New Years and then some. I slide up, thinking of a message. If she replies with some cruel comment, then oh well, but maybe, maybe sweet Eliza Schuyler isn't going to bite my head off.

Me: Hey, could I come over tomorrow?

I put my phone down and stare down at the Powerpoint of evidence with pictures that Jame, Laf and I are collaborating on right now. We don't need to talk, just each of us make slides with evidence so we can easily lay out what we have for Washington so maybe he can help us organize this case a bit more. There's so much evidence and so many different moving parts that it's been a little difficult to figure out exactly how to lay the evidence out to the ever approaching judge and jury. We have about five months to put this together, and while that sounds like a long time, it really isn't when you're in my line of work.

My phone buzzes and I'm quick to abandon whatever I was doing to pick it up, smiling almost when I see a notification from Eliza. I unlock my phone so I can see the message. It takes me to the main message page in Snapchat. I take a deep breath, then click on her message log.

Eliza: Of course, Hammie, Maria has been dying to see you!

Red flags. Red flags everywhere. I know Eliza is nice, but she must know what I did, there's no way she's genuinely this happy that I was to come over. She only calls me Hammie when she's really excited, so something is up.

Me: Okay what's the trick? Is Angelica going to come over and beat me with a bat? Are you going to poison me?

Eliza: Why on earth would I do that, or even let that happen?

Me: Uh, maybe because I cheated on my husband? I'm sorry, I just, I find it very hard to believe that you're actually excited to see me.

Eliza: I know you cheated on John, and I'm not saying that I am even close to forgiving you for it, but you're still my friend. That, and Maria really is dying to see you. She wanted to text you but didn't know if that would be okay.

Me: Wow. Uh, just tell her that I'm usually able to be contacted, so she's welcome to text me any time. Is four a good time for y'all?

Eliza: Four thirty would be better, love. Is that good?

Me: Yeah. I'll see you then, Liz. Love you.

Eliza: Love you too, Hamilgay.

I sigh and lean back. Wow, I just got treated like a person by my friend for the first time in a long time. It almost makes me want to cry. You know what? Fuck it, I'm gonna cry. I'm gonna cry and let myself feel happy and sad all at once. I'm a grown ass man making two million dollars a year, working for New York's top clients, paying off my house, and I'm gonna cry.

I place my face in my hands and let tears roll down my cheeks as I gently sob. It feels almost good, letting my chest crack and letting pent up stress and emotion spill out with my tears. I grab a near boy tissue box and blow my nose, then dab my cheeks a little bit before continuing to cry. I probably do that for about half an hour before finally wiping my tears and sighing. I'm snapped out of my trance when my phone begins buzzing with a call from Lafayette.

I sniffle as I pick up. "Hey."

"I knew you didn't fall asleep, so why aren't you helping?" He snaps, referring to the PowerPoint.

"Oh, sorry, I started crying," I mumble.

"Why? This reminding you of what a fuck up you are?" He asks, his voice filled with venom as he words leak through the speakers.

"No, just felt like it. Needed to cry, had the opportunity," I answer, ignoring his cruel words since I don't want him to know they affect me.

"Well, actually," he starts. "You didn't. I-" He pauses for a moment, a muffled voice coming from the background. "Herc, stop pitying him. He did this to himself."

"Hi Herc," I mutter.

"Herc is making me tell you I'm sorry," Lafayette growls.

"Hey, Alex," I can hear Herc's voice say. "You good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply. "I'm gonna go now, though, because Lafayette hates me, and I do have work to do. Is till gotta write up that rundown for Washington and then-"

I stop when I see John stumble through the door. He's drunk. Obviously drunk. He looks drunk and smells drunk. He has a man under his arm, and they're way too close for comfort. The guy looks less drunk than John but still wasted. I set my phone down and get up, taking quick strides to the both of them.

"Okay," I say, pulling the man off my John. "I'm gonna call you a cab, and you are gonna go home, alright?"

"Alex," John whines, leaning on me. "You're ruining our fun!"

I sigh, looking at John. "You need to go upstairs and go to sleep."

"You're not the boss of me," John says.

The guy laughs. "I'm just gonna like, call myself an Uber, this is weird."

He walks out of the house, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

I look at John. "You're drunk. Very drunk. You, just, hold on, Lafayette and Herc are still on the line I think." I lean John against a wall and then walk back over to my phone, seeing that they are indeed, still on the line. I pick it up and press it to my ear. "Hey, guys, John is currently very wasted and I need to put him to bed, so as much as I enjoyed this conversation, I've got to go, yeah?"

"Wait, how drunk?" Lafayette asks.

I look over at him. "He's trying to climb the wall, humming the Spider-Man theme."

"Why did he get drunk? I thought he was clean," Herc asks.

"John, Pip, and I all got into a big fight earlier today," I mumble. "It was because I'm helping out on the case and John didn't like that and then I explained to him that I was just helping Nathan get out of the marriage and then Phillip got really mad and blew up on both of us after John blew up on me, and, God, it was just a mess. He left, now he's drunk, and I've gotta get him to bed and make sure he has water and aspirin for the hangover he's gonna get tomorrow. So, bye."

"Bye," Lafayette mutters quietly.

"Talk to you later, man," Herc mumbles.

I hang up and then walk over to John, who is slowly falling down the wall. I put his arm around me and begin the precarious task of taking him up the stairs. The only other time he's ever been really drunk in this house was before Phillip was born. It was a slip-up, based purely off of lack of self-control, so I just needed to take him upstairs. Turns out, drunk John can't go upstairs. Like sober cows can't go downstairs. I ended up giving up that time and falling asleep on the floor with him, but I'm not doing that this time.

"Come on, John," I mutter, pushing him up the steps a bit.

"They're gonna move, like the movie," he pouts.

"Harry Potter isn't real, I promise," I whisper quietly, knowing that if I get angry or aggressive while he's drunk, he's gonna get loud, and hopefully, by now, Phillip is asleep, so I don't want to wake our child.

He puts one foot on the first step, and then the other foot on the next step. I'm very happy when we finally get to our room. John is swaying, and he smells like rubbing alcohol. He is barely staying upright, and to be honest, he looks like shit. Then again, he always looks like shit when he's been drinking.

"Why the fuck did you do this?" He asks as I find some pajamas for him.

I know exactly what he's referring to, so I answer. "I wasn't thinking."

"You just didn't think all summer?" He snarls.

I shake my head, making sure to keep my voice low. "No. I didn't."

"That's bullshit, Alex," John snaps, glaring at me.

I sigh, standing right in front of him. "Please, you don't know what you're doing. Just, let's get you into your pajamas and you can go night night, okay?"

"Are you calling me dumb? I know exactly what I'm doing!" He exclaims.

"Johnathan, Phillip is one floor above us," I remind him quietly.

"Shut the fuck up you-" He pulls back his hand to hit me.

In my life, I've seen people do this to me many a time. Usually, I'm squared up with them, ready to hit back, but at this moment, with the alcohol, the anger, the stress, the hurt, my body instantly takes me back to being a scrawny twelve year old while my cousin went on one of his drunk rampages. When he saw me. When he would pull his hand back and hit me across the face and then send me to my room. So, I do the only thing I ever really learned to do in that house. Something that stays with me.

I move back, turning so my shoulder is closer to him. My eyes are scrunched closed and my shoulders and hunched. I hit the dresser behind me and slide down until I'm curled up on the floor, my hands covering my neck, tears in my eyes. All I can hear in my heartbeat in my ears, the blood rushing through my brain. My breathing is quick and I almost start to feel light headed. John's never tried to hit me before.

"Alex?" He whispers quietly. He's on his knees in front of me, staring inquisitively at my hunched up self. "Alex, are you okay?"

Eyes wide, I slowly stand up, staring at him. "I'm taking Phillip, and we're leaving tonight. You are obviously not in the right state of mind."

"Alex, I'm sorry," he cries and I step out of our room.

"I don't care," I whisper, my hands shaking. I walk up to the last floor and into Phillip's room. He's awake, on his phone. Normally, I would scold him, but right now, I just want to get him out of here. I want him to be safe, and I don't feel like either of us are safe in this house right now, so we're leaving.

"Pip, hun, pack a bag with some clothes for school tomorrow, I'm dropping you off at Lafayette's," I state calmly.

"Mmf, dad, what?" he mumbles drowsily, looking up at me.

"We need to leave the house right now, please, just, I'll explain everything in the car, but right now we need to leave," I beg.

He nods, getting up and I leave his room, walking back downstairs. John is on our bed, but I don't quite know if he's passed out. I stop in my office, grabbing my briefcase and suit jacket for tomorrow, then wait for Phillip, since I don't know for sure that John is asleep, and I don't want anything happening to Phillip.

It doesn't take long for my child to show up, wearing some slip-on Vans and a hoodie over the tee shirt he was originally wearing, as well as some basketball shorts. I usher him down the rest of the stairs, then grab my laptop and papers before heading out to the car with Phillip. We get in and I begin driving to Lafayette's house, which is thankfully not too far away.

"What's going on?" Pip asks, obviously half awake.

"Your pop is drunk and I don't think it's very safe for either of us to be in the house right now, so I'm dropping you off at Lafayette's, okay?" I say calmly.

"Did he hit you?" Phillip asks quietly.

"He didn't," I answer honestly. "I just don't think we should be-"

"He almost hit you," Phillip answers his own question, sighing.

I don't say anything for a few seconds, then I let out a short breath. "He's just drunk. He's mad and hurt. It's okay. He's not even going to remember it in the morning, so it's okay."

"Who are you trying to convince?" Pip asks, looking over at me. "Because truthfully, it sounds more like you're saying this to yourself."

I pause, realizing he's right. "Phillip, do you have places you could hang out? I don't want you going home until I text you."

He nods. "Yeah, yeah, I'll just hang out with a friend or something. If I'm being honest, I don't really want to go home tomorrow."

I nod. "Okay, just tell me where you are, make sure to get dinner and sleep. If you need to be picked up at any point, just text or call me. I'll order you food if you need it. Look, I get it. I didn't go home a lot of nights when I lived with my cousin, even when I lived with my mom. Don't feel like you have to defend your decision, because you don't."

He nods. "Okay."

After that, we sit in silence until I pull into Lafayette's driveway. I get out of the car quickly and knock on the door, Phillip by my side. He's taller than me now, but I still get this overwhelming urge to protect him in every situation we stumble across. Right now, he just feels small. He's hunched over, hugging his bag, trying to steady out his shaky breathing. I wish I could just hug him and sing to him and make sure he knows it's gonna be alright.

"What the fuck do-" Lafayette cuts himself off when he sees Phillip and I. "Alex, Pip, what are you two doing here?"

"John is drunk, the house isn't safe at the moment, can Phillip spend the night?" I ask quickly, almost avoiding eye contact.

"Wait, what do you mean, the house isn't safe?" Hercules questions, appearing behind Lafayette. "What's going on?"

"Phillip just needs a place to stay tonight because I don't want him at home," I mumble, praying they don't cut me off.

"Okay, but what happened?" Lafayette asks.

"He just needs a-"

Hercules interrupts me. "Yeah, but why?"

"John tried to hit me!" I snap, silencing both of them. "He tried to hit me, and so I left the house and I took Phillip with me and he needs a place to stay because I can't be a good parent right now and provide him with a safe place to sleep. Can he stay here?"

"Yes, of course," Lafayette says quietly. He gently pulls Phillip into the house, placing his arm around my son. "Come on, do you want to shower? It's gonna be okay, sweetheart."

I sigh and turn to go. "Thanks."

"Lex, what about you?" Hercules asks.

I shrug. "I'll sleep in my car. I'm fine, it's just, I was worried about Phillip."

"You're not sleeping in your car," Herc mumbles, pulling me into the house. "We have a perfectly good guest room, and you will be using it. I'm gonna get you some leggings and a tee shirt to sleep in."

"Leggings?" I ask skeptically.

"Alex, I design men's clothes," Hercules tells me as he leads me upstairs. "They're gonna fit you biological needs just fine."

In the hall, I can see Lafayette handing a towel to Phillip before glancing at us. I'm glad Phillip is okay. I honestly wouldn't care if I was sleeping in the alleyway where a homeless man tried to sell me crack, as long as Phillip is safe.

"Okay, get dressed and come down to the living room, to talk and such," Herc mumbles, handing me the clothes. I nod and change in their room, finding that the leggings and long shirt are very comfortable, before heading downstairs to the living room, where Laf and Herc already sit, quietly talking.

"Hey," I greet, sitting down and taking a deep breath. My shoulders feel tense, so I make a note to schedule a massage at some point in the next three years. It usually takes me a while to get around to self-care acts such as massages or something, so three years is an accurate timespan to schedule something in.

"Why did John try to hit you?" Lafayette asks immediately.

"Jesus Christ, at least let the man sit down," Herc mumbles.

I roll my eyes. "He came home drunk, so I was taking him to bed. I've been dealing with drunk John since I was fourteen, so I know how to handle him. I know not to raise my voice, and I know not to be aggressive. It's a routine. Anyway, I told him it was time to go to bed, and then he yelled something, asking me if I thought he was dumb or something, and so I quietly reminded him that Phillip was upstairs, then he pulled back his hand like he was going to hit me. I didn't feel safe being in that house, and I sure as hell wasn't about to leave my child there, so I told Phillip to pack a bag, and now I'm here."

"Yeah, why are you still here?" Lafayette questions, glaring a bit at me.

"Because I was not about to let our friend sleep in his car after his husband tried to hit him," Herc snaps. "Jesus, Laf, I get that you're mad, but have some damn empathy for one night. It's obvious that Alex is at least trying, so lay off."

Lafayette sighs. "Right, sorry, no one deserves to get hit, or threatened."

I snort. "That's not what any of you said when Angelica decided to use my face as a punching bag couple weeks ago."

"She did what?" Hercules asks, shocked. "Jesus, I lose touch with everyone to stay out of drama for six weeks and now everyone is hitting Alex."

I shrug. "Could be worse."

"I'm literally about to eat my goddamn foot," Herc mumbles. "What about you and John? I mean, obviously, things aren't good right now, but what about when everyone is sober?"

I groan. "It's bad. It's all bad. He won't talk to me, and I've asked him if he wants to see counseling and he just said 'like that's gonna do any good.' Like yeah, actually it is. I'll admit, I'm nowhere near perfect right now, and I am struggling with handling this well, but I just, I don't know. I don't know what John wants. He could've divorced me with a team of the best lawyers in New York by now, but he hasn't. He could've left, he could've split, he would've done anything, but he's not. He's not doing a damn thing except mope and fights with me."

"Maybe because you broke his heart," Lafayette mutters.

"I don't know what he wants me to do though! Nothing is right! He got pissed at me for talking about divorce, counseling, splitting, everything is wrong! I don't know what to do!" I sigh, placing my face in my hands. "He's just, I've always been able to read him but he's being so damn confusing right now."

Herc sighs. "Nothing is right to him either."

I look up.

"He loves you," Hercules says. "Nothing could ever change that. He got mad at you for bringing up divorce and splitting because he thinks that means you've given up. He doesn't want you to give up, because truthfully, he loves you more than anything on this planet."

"How do you know this?" I ask skeptically.

"We talk," Herc replies.

"Okay, fine, if he doesn't want me to give up, then why is he not trying to talk to me? To seek counseling? Something!" I rant.

"He's hurt," the older Irishman tells me. "Alex, I am fifty years old. I've spent half a century on this planet, and in that time, I've learned a few things. Like the fact that when people are hurt, their ability to make smart decisions goes out the window. Right now, John, he's just, he's hurt. He's so very hurt. I'm not trying to justify his actions, because knowing John as I do, I know he is definitely not handling this very well. He loves his husband, but he's confused and hurt and humiliated, he's sad. I, I just think, I think the best thing to do is to give him space."

"If he wants space then why does he initiate fights with me?" I ask.

Herc shrugs. "I don't know, he's John, he's never been cheated on before. Here's some homework for you though, you short lawyer, don't engage. If he starts an argument, just tell him 'I don't want to fight with you right now, so I'm going to go do something else.' I dunno, make something up if you need to, you're a writer, you can do this."

"Dad?" I hear a voice mumble.

I look over to see Phillip with semi-dry hair, standing there. I smile a bit. "Hey, kid."

He grunts a little bit, then comes and curls up on the couch next to me, leaning against me like he used to do when he was a little kid and we would be at my office Christmas party. John would be having a ball while Phillip and I slept on the cold leather couch.

"You good, sport?" I ask quietly, running my fingers through his hair.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" He asks quietly.

"Yeah, of course," I mumble, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"You're not a bad father," Lafayette says quietly.

I look over at him and offer a half-hearted smile. "I haven't been doing the best I can lately, but I'm working on it. I know my son is going through a lot right now, so I just want to be there for him. I'm trying my hardest."

"Alex, you're obviously very stressed about John, but I think space is the best gift you can give to him right now. Focus on your work, focus on your child, keep yourself busy and keep your head down. You're gonna be able to figure this out, one way or another. I do think though you should tell John what he did tomorrow, okay?" Herc gently smiles at me.

I nod. "I might just take a half day. Head home early, you know."

Herc nods and sighs. "We should all go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Psh," Lafayette laughs. "Like you, mister 'I work from home because a studio is too expensive' would be getting up at five in the morning."

I roll my eyes and shake Phillip a bit, her just grunts again and stands up. We both walk to the guest room and get in the large queen bed together. When Phillip was a kid, he used to sleep with John and me at least once a week, since he got night terrors sometimes. We never minded though. He doesn't do it as often anymore, but he'll occasionally get a night terror so back before this whole pamphlet thing happened, often times he would come into our room and spend the rest of the night with us.

"Can you sing to me?" Phillip asks quietly.

I nod, hugging my son close to me and gently playing with his hair so he can sleep. "Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, and the dreams that you dream of once in a lullaby. Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebird fly, and the dreams that you dream of really do come true. Someday, I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me. Where troubles melt like lemon drops, high above the chimney tops, that's where you'll find me. Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds fly, oh why, oh why can't I?"

I stop and listen for a second, then smile contently when I hear Phillip's evened out breathing. When Pip was a baby, I would rock him in his crib and sing to him, and I wouldn't leave until he fell asleep. John would be passed out, sitting on the floor with his head in my lap, and I would be on the old wicker chair, rocking Phillip's crib and singing little songs to him. It always made me anxious if I didn't know Phillip was sleeping. Up until the age of six, I always had to make sure the kid was asleep, and even after that, I still had that bit of worry in the back of my mind. It's nice to know now though that he is asleep. It's like taking down your hair after a long day. I close my eyes and hold my son, drifting off to sleep.

I wake up before he does with no alarm. I quietly slip out of bed and get dressed, making my way downstairs with my briefcase so I can get some coffee. I know this house like I know the back of my hand, so it's not that hard to start the coffee and sit at the kitchen table, quickly writing the rundown Washington wanted by lunch today. I'll have it done in ten minutes, I know, but I still want to make sure I get it done. I don't want to start slacking on my work.

"Morning," Lafayette mumbles, walking into the kitchen groggily.

"Still not a morning person, I see," I chuckle, continuing to write at a rapid pace.

"Maybe it's because someone woke me up in the middle of the night," he growls.

"Sorry I wanted my son to sleep in a safe place last night. It wasn't even my plan to stay here, your husband made me. So, if you haven't any complaints, take it up with him," I mutter, writing as I do so. My brain can type out one sentence and say something else at the complete same time, which I learned after years of practice.

Lafayette pauses, then sighs. "You're right, I'm sorry. I may hate your guts for what you did, but I have to respect you as a father for your actions last night. It must be hard for you to balance so many things, so it's very respectable that you're making your son one of your top priorities."

I nod wearily. "Thank you."

The rest of the morning goes by quickly, Phillip catching a ride to school with Georges and Lafayette and I taking off for work at about the same time. Nothing is said when we get to work, but Lafayette does bring me a coffee as he drops off some papers. I definitely think he's still pissed at me, but I also think this is his way of apologizing for what he said, which is nice.

I do take a half day, dropping the rundown off at Washington's office, then heading home. As expected, John is there. I can tell because of the subtle music that is playing from our room. I sigh and get some water and heat up some vegetable broth for him, then go upstairs, finding him in our bed, a pillow smashed over his head.

"Hangovers suck," I mutter, placing the water and bowl of broth on the nightstand.

"Yeah? Are you here to rub it in my face?" John growls, sitting up and sipping the water angrily, despite the fact that I'm the one who got it for him.

"As much as I love to discuss pain and suffering, I actually wanted to talk to you about something else that happened last night," I state calmly, sitting down on the bed.

"If it's about that guy, I really don't think you're in any place to talk," John points out.

I nod. "That's why it's not about that guy. Phillip and I left around midnight last night, do you know why? Do you remember?"

John shakes his head, pulling his lips back in a bit of a sneer.

"You almost hit me," I state. "Truthfully, I think if I hadn't flinched back and moved away from you, you would've hit me."

John is quiet, but something in his eyes changes.

"I'm not here to get an apology out of you, and I'm sure as hell not here to apologize," I continue. "I simply wished to inform you of your actions, and ask that next time, please don't drink, but instead, stay home and cry. There's an AA meeting this Friday, I think you should go."

I get up and walk out of the room, sighing and heading to my office where I can tell Eliza I need a rain check and continue working on a quick layout of another case I'm doing for another client, which is approaching much quicker than the Hale court date. Gotta stay focused.


	19. Phillip deserves BETTER (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a trigger warning in here

/Phillip/

It's Friday after school and I honestly have nowhere to go, no even Georges' since he got the flu. I've been subtly avoiding home, though my dad did say I could come back if I wanted. I'm just a little shaken up by what my pop did. Unfortunately, though, it leaves me in situations like this where I'm standing outside, wondering if I really want to walk all the way to the next Subway station in the pouring rain. I don't even have an umbrella with me, which sucks. My cash is a total of four quarters, so that's not even enough to get me to 96th street in an Uber, so here I sit, waiting for it to stop raining in the entrance of my school.

"You waiting for someone?" Jacky asks, stopping next to me. He and I haven't really hooked up since that first time, but that doesn't stop us from sending nudes or dick pics or whatever we feel the need to send. It's nice.

I shake my head, looking over at him and smiling. "Only for the rain to stop."

"Wanna come over?" Jacky asks, looking me up and down.

"As long as come over means has sex, then yes," I state, laughing a bit.

Jacky takes my hand and we run through the rain to his old beige Volvo. It's nice enough that I would let myself be seen in it around town, and it's warm when we get in, thanks to the oh so wonderful invention of autostart. I swear, if I owned a car and had a license, I would only want autostart.

"Don't you usually hang out with that tall dude on Fridays?" Jacky asks as he begins driving to his place.

I nod, thinking of how Georges called me this morning and told me he was vomiting. "Usually, but he just happened to contract the flu or something, so while he wallows in sickness and the karma of not getting his flu shot, I do believe I'm all yours."

"Okay, you gotta let me cook you dinner, first," Jacky states.

I shake my head. "Not hungry, anyway. I don't like being courted."

"Okay, then how about I turn on Scary Movie and then start jerking myself off ten minutes in and then we fuck, yeah?" Jacky smiles.

I nod, leaning back and closing my eyes. "Sounds good. Do you have coffee?"

"Usually, yeah. You tired?" Jacky asks.

I hum. "I've been up since like, four in the morning, I'm always tired. Like, I've been tired since I was six years old. Just, any kind of caffeine would be nice."

"I have Red Bull in the backseat," Jacky mentions.

My eyes shoot open and I reach around, quickly locating the cans and opening one, chugging it faster than my dad chugs coffee on a Saturday morning. It tastes so good, that I can't help but grab another and drink that. I know my heart is gonna begin palpitating soon, but that's okay, as long as I have my caffeine fix.

"Damn, addict much?" Jacky laughs.

I smile. "My dad, he, he drinks a lot of coffee and stuff like this. His signature drink is medium roast coffee, half an energy drink, and then a mixed berry Five Hour Energy. One time, when I was twelve, he made four of those for me, and four for him, and we both drank all of it, and then when my pop came home, he almost couldn't tell how much caffeine we both had until he realized that I was vibrating and my dad was shaking."

Jacky laughs, tilting his head back. "You're so weird, were you actually vibrating?"

I shrug. "Pretty much."

He pulls into an apartment building, a nice one, and gets out of the car. We quickly make our way into the lobby and then to the elevator. Jacky grabs my ass, making me squeal a bit. The building is nice, obviously because he's in a rich family. Sometimes I forget that you have to be kinda rich to live in Manhattan on the daily. I know my dad grew up with basically nothing, and my pop wasn't anywhere near upper class, so it's nice to know that I don't have to go through that unless of course, they throw all their money away on a divorce.

I laugh as he picks me up, grabbing my ass and sucking on my neck. I wrap my legs around his waist and subtly grind onto him as he brings me into his apartment, and then to his room. He reaches for his laptop, most likely to follow through with that Scary Movie plan, but I smack his hand away and begin kissing him, moaning lightly as he touches my ass. My hands roam across his body as he begins to unbutton the buttons on my flannel shirt, peeling it from my body.

He flips us so he's on top, then takes off his shirt, revealing his toned body. I sigh, running my hand down his chest and to his tented jeans. He leans down and kisses me again, slipping off his jeans as I slip off mine. Soon enough, we're just grinding gently in our underwear as we make out, both of us getting harder.

"I wanna make you feel good," he whispers, kissing down my chest.

"Oh? How you gonna do that?" I tease, laughing almost as he fiddles with the hem of my underwear.

"You're too cocky for your own good," he mumbles, pulling my boxers down and taking me in his mouth.

I moan loudly, grabbing his hair and pulling him farther down. He gags but continues sucking, bring loud and obnoxious noises from me. I enjoy the feeling of his mouth around my dick because it's rare that I get a blowjob. Men are the same, gay, straight, they still think jackhammering their penis is the only way to get you to feel pleasure. I never understood that though, because like, I'm a guy, just like them, so of course, if someone offers me a blowjob, I'm going to take it with open arms. I mean, who wouldn't want a blow job?

I pull Jacky's head off before I come, just so I can last a little longer. I mean, even if I did come here and now, I would probably just make him wait the stalling period until I could get hard again, then actually fuck him. I've done that with William a couple of times since sometimes foreplay with him has been so good I just finish right then and there. He'll always whine through it, but if I subtly grind on him, he shuts up really quick.

"I was about to come," I explain. "Come on, babe, just fuck me."

"Oh? So we're doing pet names now, kitten?" Jacky teases, getting up and grabbing a condom from his dresser.

I scrunch up my nose. "Don't call me kitten. I'm okay with baby or babe, but that's it, truthfully. So, yeah, just FYI."

Jacky nods and steps out of his underwear, letting his, well, less than average dick stands erect. Peter and William are my favorites because they're longer, then Eaker because he's wider, and then Jacky, because he's, well, he's none of those. It's not my job or place to judge, so if I have to fake a few moans, I will.

Jacky pulls me to the edge of his bed, my legs spread and my back arched. I've been fucked like this a couple of times, and I never minded it, so I let him push into me as I grip the sheets, moaning gently.

"Are you good?" He asks.

I have to stop myself from laughing. Of course, I'm good, baby dick. "Yeah, just, just fucking move or something," I mutter. 

He begins thrusting, and though he is small, it does feel pretty okay. I stroke myself, letting my mind wander, replacing the boy in front of me with a much more familiar face. I can just imagine Georges fucking me like this, covering my mouth so our parents don't hear. I can imagine riding him in his little slug bug car long past curfew, listening to his grunts and moans over the sound of the radio. I can practically hear his voice, whispering dirty things in my ear. Wow, I'm getting close just thinking about that. Fuck, I just want him to pull my hair, bite my neck, smack my ass, choke me, something. I'm so sick of just grinding and making out, I want to fuck him. I want to fuck him really hard. I want to feel him come inside me.

/TW: Rape/

"You like that, baby?" Jacky grunts.

So caught up in my moment of daydreaming, I forget proper sex etiquette, and my lusting teenage brain dictates my response. "Oh, Georges, fuck yes."

He stops. "Georges?"

I laugh nervously, hoping he'll have the same reaction Peter did. "Yeah, heh."

"Am I not good enough for you?" He snaps, placing his hand on my chest and pushing me down onto the bed a bit more.

My comfort levels falling to an all-time low, I try to move his hand. "It's not that. Just, forget it, it's whatever, just a slip-up. I do it with Peter sometimes."

I gasp when Jacky slaps me. It's not too hard, granted, but it wasn't a fun teasing sexual slap, which I have occasionally gotten from William; No, this was hard and too painful for me to even sort of enjoy. It's obvious he's mad, and I don't want to have sex with him anymore.

"Okay, I think I should go," I state, trying to move. Any hope of that dissipates as he wraps his hand around my throat tightly and holds it there. I yelp and reach for his hands. "Jacky, stop it. I don't like this."

"I'll show you just how much better I can be than Georges," he mumbles, beginning to move again.

"Hey, stop it," I say angrily. "I don't want to do this anymore."

He hits me again, only this time, it's harder. I close my eyes, feeling his hand squeeze my throat tighter. He's not doing it right. I've been choked plenty of times before, and this is how you properly choke someone. You're supposed to only apply pressure to the sides, which cuts off blood circulation to the brain and makes the sex feel good. He's not doing that. He's pushing on my actual throat, which is making it harder to breathe by the second. I can't focus on anything right now but the darkness behind my eyelids. My cheek is burning and stinging, my chest is hurting, and for a moment, I almost think I should just let him finish. Then I remember. I remember being taught self-defense by Washington with Georges and Theo on a summer afternoon. I remember my dad telling me to be safe, I remember Peter making me promise to be unapologetically myself as he held me close to him that day. If I let Jacky do this to me, I would not be doing something I normally do. So, with all my strength, I kick him off of me.

"I said to stop!" I yell loudly, standing up quickly and finding my clothes.

"What the fuck, Pip? Since when do you stop having sex?" Jacky snaps, pushing me.

I shove him back, far enough to where I have enough time to slip on my jeans and underwear. "Since sometimes that's just how it goes! Peter has stopped for me, William has stopped for me! You didn't! You hit me, in fact!"

"You're just being a bitch," Jacky snaps.

I take a deep breath, slipping on my flannel and beginning to button it back up. "I, I just, I'm going to go."

"Yeah, fine! Whatever!" Jacky snaps.

TW over

I quickly leave his room and go grab my backpack by the door, slipping on my shoes and coat. My hand shakes as I press the elevator button to go down. On the reflective elevator walls, I can see bruises forming on my neck and cheek. I have to groan very loudly at that since I know questions are going to be asked.

I get to the lobby and at this point, I want to cry. I'm shaking like a leaf, and can barely walk, so I sit down on one of the couches and pull out my phone. I almost consider calling Georges, but then I remember he's sick, so I click on Theo's contact and call her.

She picks up after three rings. "Hey, Pippi, what's cracking?"

"Hey," I mumble, my voice just above a whisper due to my sore throat. "Can, can you pick me up from the Longacre House apartment building? Please?"

"Yeah of course," she says, her tone changing. "Are you okay? Why does your voice sound like that?"

"I just, please pick me up?" I request.

"I'll be there in ten," she mumbles before hanging up. I sigh and place my face in my hands before getting up and walking out of the building. I sit down on a bench, shaking still as I try not to cry. What the hell just happened? I've never had a guy get violent with me ever. Sometimes someone will get too rough and I'll tell them I don't like that, and then they'll stop. Jacky, he, he didn't stop. I told him to stop and he didn't. Did he rape me? No, no he couldn't have, right? It's not like it went on for very long, and I, I don't know.

By the time Theo gets here, I'm practically in tears. The moment I step into the warm safety of her car, I start crying. Sobbing actually. Tears roll down my face as my body shakes and my breathing. Theo instantly has her arms around me and is hugging me tightly to her chest. I grip her sweater and let tears spill from my eyes.

"Pip, hey, hey baby, it's okay, you're okay, it's okay," she whispers gently. "You're right here, in my arms. Nothing's gonna hurt you. I've got you. I'm right here. Shh, Pip, it's okay. Deep breaths."

"God, I'm sorry," I mumble, quickly regaining my composure. "I just, I'm sorry. Just, ignore that, please."

"Phillip, did something happen?" She asks.

"Can we please just go back to your place?" I ask quietly. She nods and begins driving through the streets, making it to her place in about eleven minutes. Not much is said, just the sweet music from the R&B station she listens to, leaking through her cars speakers and calming me down a bit. I'm still shaking and holding back tears, but at least I'm going to a familiar place. Theo doesn't say much on the ride home, but I can practically feel how worried she is about me. I try to ignore it, but it's awfully hard.

"Come on, let's go up to my room," Theo says quietly.

I nod and get out of her car. She takes my hand gently and we walk inside. Her father sits at the table, working while her mother sits next to him, drawing. I try to keep my head down, hoping they won't notice me, but they do.

"Phillip, hey, are you okay?" Dosia asks.

"He's just a little stressed," Theo cuts in quickly. "I'm gonna take him upstairs and we're gonna watch a few movies."

"I'll order him some Thai food," Aaron mumbles, looking equally as worried.

I go quickly upstairs and into Theo's room, instantly collapsing on her bed. She sits down next to me and scoops me up in her arms. It times like these when I am truly reminded of how small I am compared to her. I'm barely scraping five foot eight, while she stands at a study five foot eleven. My body is thin and small, mostly made up of slim muscle and bones, while she has thighs of an Olympian lesbian weightlifter and arms of steel. When you're in Theo's arms, you really are entirely safe.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks quietly.

I shake my head.

"Does it have something to do with the bruises on your neck and face?" She questions, stroking my hair.

I nod.

"Do you want me to fight anyone? I can and will. I'll crush their head between my thighs as that one lesbian goddess did with that pumpkin," she offers.

I laugh and shake my head. "It's fine."

"Hey," she says gently. "It's obviously not okay. I'm not gonna make you tell me, but I don't want you to brush off your feelings. It looks like you got hurt, so obviously, something must've happened. If you don't want to talk about it right now, I respect that, but I think tomorrow you should tell my dad or mom because they're adults and they should know. They'll know how to handle things a lot better than I will."

"You think they'll tell my parents?" I mumble.

She shrugs. "Whatever happens, we're going to love you as much as we can. You're my best friend, Phillip, and I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you, okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

"Come on, let's watch some Disney movies. Dinner should be here in about an hour," she whispers, holding me. "We can do face masks if you want."

I nod, knowing it's part of her nightly routine anyway. "Sounds good."

She smiles and we both go to the bathroom. She has eight different face masks that work for my skin type, and then about twenty-four face masks total. I pick a strawberry cucumber one and rub it on my skin, wincing as I touch the bruise. Theo notices then stops rubbing the clay mask on and peers at me curiously.

"What?" I ask quietly.

"Finish your mask, we're gonna do something," she says. I finish rubbing it over my skin and then let her pull me downstairs. Dosia and Aaron look at us curious as Theo begins pulling down herbs and whatnot from the shelf.

"What are you doing, Theo?" Aaron asks, looking over curiously.

"I'm making an herb pack," she states simply. "Where's the dried aloe?"

"Hold on, we need to see the bruise before we make this," Dosia states, standing up. "Wait for the masks to dry, then come back down and make this. Your first mistake is rushing too quickly into this. You need to remember that this takes time. Go watch a vine compilation, wash the masks off, and then do this."

"Okay," Theo groans.

We walk back upstairs and then, well, do just that. We watch Vines and laugh until finally, it's time to wash our faces. I take the pinkish mask off of my face and examine the bruises. My neck is only slightly bruised with the very obvious fingerprints, that most definitely won't be passed off as hickeys. The bruise on my cheek though, it's bad. It's dark, purplish and swollen. I groan lightly at it, examining just how bad it is, then let Theo pull me back downstairs. This isn't the first time I've gotten a bruise this bad, but it's usually in places that, well, most people don't find themselves looking at casually.

"Jesus, Pip, did you get hit by a truck?" Dosia comments quietly, examining my face.

"Something like that," I mumble.

"Okay, Theo, get a bowl, we're gonna use my mother's old recipe for when the other girls would get too mean, or when my aunt would smack me as she braided my hair," Dosia commands.

Theo follows her instructions, pulling out a medium white bowl. "What do we need?"

"Dried aloe, arnica oil, cloves, witch hazel, country salve, cayenne pepper, black tea leaves, lavender oil, and rose powder," Dosia states.

Theo and Dosia are Wiccans of some sorts. More of the natural remedies, alter, almost hippie kinds. They believe in modern medicine, but for stuff that doesn't need to be treated by an actual doctor, they usually like to concoct some sort of potion or whatever. When I was a little kid, I was over at their house, and I fell and scraped my knee, so they compacted it with sunflower leaves, witch hazel, and ice. It felt better almost instantly. I'm not Wiccan, I do believe in God, but, I also believe that what they do works.

I sit on the counter and watch as they work together, combining the ingredients just so, then putting it in a special blender with some ice and mixing it all together. Theo gets some linens, and they wrap up the almost snowball like concoction in the fabric, then hand it to me.

Dosia holds my hands gently in hers, the wrap included, then whispers quietly in Latin, "Et sanatus fuerat," before pressing a small kiss to my forehead and pressing the pack to my cheek gently.

"Thank you," I mumble.

"Do you want to tell us what happened?" She asks.

"Tomorrow?" I suggest quietly, hoping that will be okay.

"Sounds good, dear," Dosia replies. She then takes a strand of hair in her hands. "You need a haircut. We can do that tomorrow too since Franny is coming over. Theo can go hang with her while we all talk."

"Can you cut hair?" I ask skeptically.

"How do you think I paid for college? I cut Aaron's hair, Theo's hair," Dosia lists. "I've even cut your parents hair quite a few times. Your dad always has so many split ends."

I laugh a bit. "Sounds like him."

"Okay, mom, Pip and I are gonna go and watch some movies," Theo states, taking my hand. "Is dinner gonna be ready soon?"

"If by ready, you mean delivered to our door, then yes, it is," Aaron says.

Theo and I walk upstairs and sit back on her bed. She puts a DVD in her computer and we begin to watch Brave, which is in my top three Disney movies. I also like Mulan and Moana. Theo and I always seem to watch Disney movies together, because they're truthfully some of the most relaxing things to watch. There's never anything that's really bad, there's never a sad scene that drags on. It's movies to watch when you're already sad, which is nice really because I feel pretty sad right now.

I don't really even know what happened. I told him to stop and he didn't. I told him to, to just, to let me go. He didn't. He hit me, he choked me, Jesus I couldn't breathe for a few seconds. I just, I don't know what that counted as. I need to sleep on it.


	20. The Burrs are the true MVPs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just want to let y'all know that Dosia's stories come straight from my friend Chess' mouth, so they are not my original idea
> 
> Also, talk of rape mostly throughout this chapter so...

/Phillip/

I wake up the next morning before Theo does. She's snoring lightly as her laptop shows the play screen for Emperor's New Groove. I close it and go downstairs, seeing that Dosia and Aaron are already there, cooking breakfast. I'm glad it's Saturday because I don't know exactly how well I could manage to go to school today. I'll probably head home tonight, though it doesn't sound like a very nice idea, so maybe Eaker's would be nice.

"Morning," I mumble, sitting down at the kitchen table with Dosia.

"Hey, Pip, Aaron is almost done with breakfast, and after that, I'm gonna cut your hair, because it needs it," Dosia states. "Do you have anything you want to try?"

I shrug. "Can you do something about how incredibly thick it is?"

"I can! Very easily in fact!" She says happily. "I would shave the under part so no one could tell that it's shaved unless you put your hair up, would that be good?"

I nod. "Sounds awesome."

"For breakfast, we have a chickpea flour frittata and yes, it is vegan, I made this especially for you Pip, since I know you and John like to have breakfast," Aaron states, setting down some plates. "Is my oh so wonderful daughter still asleep?"

I nod, picking up my fork. "Out like a light." I take a bite of the food and close my eyes. "This is amazing."

"He's never cooked a bad meal," Dosia states.

"Well, I did-"

"For the last time, baby, it wasn't bad, you're just mean to yourself," she interrupts.

"Well your mom had no trouble telling me it wasn't that good," Aaron jokes.

"My mom's a bitch. She's just mad because I didn't marry 'a real black guy.' What does that even mean? You're pretty fucking black, Aaron. Like, you're blacker than me. She be saying you ain't really black, how she gonna say that when her husband left her? Hm?" Dosia wiggles her eyebrows and laughs.

"I'm not 'really black' to your mom because, well, if we go by gender roles, you fulfill the man's job of getting the higher salary, paying the bills, driving, and I fulfill the woman's rolls of cooking, cleaning, staying at home with Theo when she was a baby while you worked," Aaron states, laughing.

"The tea is piping," I mutter.

"It's true!" Aaron defends. "Also, I didn't really grow up with a 'black childhood' so to speak. Dosia grew up in Louisiana in the hood, while I grew up in New York, focusing on my studies and getting a full ride to college. I'm a white guy in a black guy."

"He won't even say the n-word," Dosia teases. "But, no matter what, you are still very black, and it's rude of my mom to discount that. Besides, I would've killed to have a childhood like yours. Mine was, different."

"Do tell," I say, smiling.

"You see Pip, none of you kids know the absolute terror of braiding day," Dosia begins. "Currently, I get my hair braided at a salon where they provide me with tea and snacks, but when I was a kid? Oh no, no salons. Firstly, we'd go over to my auntie's house. You never went to anyone's house but your auntie's to get braided and I don't know why. Anyway, my auntie was seemingly always nine months pregnant, so you would sit on the floor between leaning against the couch with no pillow while she sits on the couch and braids your hair. You could feel her stomach and her vagina pressing up against you, and every time you would move, she'd smack you and say 'stop moving' and then your mom would tell you to listen to your aunt. Seven hours later, she was done and you would have to soak in a bathtub, the smell of coconut oil wafting through the air as your scalp feels like it just got rawed. Your little cousin would come it with his mom, who would be totally shirtless, titties out, breastfeeding her child. Your cousin would hand you some fried chicken and you would eat it from the tub. That, that is a shared experience with most black girls."

"Her parents are the reason I stay bald," Aaron whispers quietly.

"Then, then you would get home, and your mom who was equally as pregnant as your aunt always, would not be able to walk up the stairs, so you and your brother would each grab a bit of her ass, get under, and push her up," Dosia states, doing hand motions. "Don't get me started on the family get-togethers. There was always a fight. If you didn't see a weave on the grass, then you couldn't go to bed yet."

"I'm suddenly very grateful for my Hispanic dad and only a little black pop," I whisper.

"I don't even know how Aaron tolerated me when he first met me," Dosia laughs. "He was this educated man who had his life put together and had like, a work ethic while I was this lazy art and math major, couch surfing, and saying a lot of PG thirteen words. Seriously, I met Aaron's uncle and I didn't know he like, was a member of the college staff, so I went up to him, bro-hugged him like my older brothers taught me, and said 'what up, my dude.' Aaron's whole family knew I was from the ghetto the moment I opened my mouth."

"For a while, before they knew she was like, a calculus major with a lined up teaching job at a college, they asked me if she was really the one," Aaron states.

"Aaron may be blacker than me, but I'm blacker than him," Dosia states. "Now that you're done with breakfast, come on, let's get your haircut. I promise I won't smack you if you move. Oh man, I remember my auntie would hit me with the straightening iron. I can't use them too this day without shaking."

"I'm so grateful I'm bald, I'm so grateful I'm bald," Aaron repeats, smiling.

Dosia gets up and walks into the bathroom, then steps out with a towel, scissors, and a shaving kit, as well as a brush. She sets it all down on the kitchen table, then sets a chair in front of the kitchen sink. "Come on, kid, let's get your hair wet."

I get up and sit on the chair, leaning back to Dosia can wash my hair. I never really go to salons anyway, just let my pop cut it in the kitchen, so I'm used to leaning over the kitchen sink to get my hair wet so he can cut it.

"Aaron, baby, can you get me my shampoo and conditioner?" She requests sweetly.

"Of course," Aaron replies.

"I got a new one that I want to try on you since you and Theo have very similar hair textures. Both of you are 3B or 3C," she states. "You take very good care of your hair though, Pip, I can tell. How often do you wash it?"

"Four days a week minimum," I tell her.

"It's very healthy, soft," she says as she begins to rub the shampoo Aaron brought her into my scalp. I close my eyes and smile, letting her wash and condition it until we're done. When she is done, she dried it a bit, then wraps a towel around my shoulders and had me sit in front of her while she begins to cut my hair.

"How did you and Aaron meet?" I ask, needing a good love story right now.

Theo smiles. "It's the last day of both of our first years of college. I'm eighteen, he's seventeen because he was one of those smart fucks who graduated fast. Anyway, we're both at the same party, and I'm there with my boyfriend at the time, who was very drunk. I got bored so I was sitting down on the couch when this scrawny little kid sat down next to me, very apparently tired and ready to leave. We ended up starting a conversation about being dragged to parties by friends, which turned into us just talking about our lives. I got his number and we texted and called a lot. Finally, towards the end of that summer, I realized I was in love with him. So, I left my boyfriend and moved in with him. He was perfect, still is. I remember when he first met your dad. He came home and said 'I met another orphan.' I thought that was nice since you know, friends and all, but then Aaron said 'he talks more than you.' That killed me since I do talk a lot." She pauses, gently pulling on a bit of my hair. "Jesus, Pip, if you straighten your hair, it would go down to the middle of your back."

"The shrinkage is real," I mutter, laughing.

"I get that, so I'm only gonna cut an inch since that's all your hair needs, plus the shaving. How is that bruise feeling?" She continues, beginning to snip off my hair.

I shrug a bit. "Not as bad as it could, so that's alright. Thanks for the pack, last night."

"Of course," Dosia states. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

I sigh. "I know, I know I need to tell someone. It's just, it's like, it's humiliating. I, I don't know, it makes me feel, it makes me feel gross."

Dosia gently begins combing apart line in my hair so she can tie it up and shave the bottom half. "Can I tell you something, Pip?"

I hum in response.

"When I was in high school, I was assaulted by my English teacher. It was humiliating, embarrassing, and I didn't want to tell anyone for a long time. The first person I ever actually told was Aaron, and I didn't realize how much better it made me feel to have someone to help me until I did actually have someone to help me. He offered me nothing but support, and that's what we'll offer you, Phillip," Dosia says, brushing my hair up a bit.

"You're our family," Aaron continues. "And we love you. We want to make sure you're safe, and provide you with whatever you need, be it support, a place to go, a meal, anything."

"Here, hun, why don't you think about how you want to say it, or even if you want to say it right now, while I shave," Theo states.

I nod a bit and she begins shaving. When she's finished with one side, I bring my hand up and touch it. It's not too short, about a quarter inch, and soft. She finishes and lets my hair down. It's definitely is not as thick as it was, but is very soft. I ought to ask her what shampoo and conditioner that was because my hair feels really nice.

"Alright, come here, sit on a chair like a human," Dosia states, smiling a bit at me as she gently helps me up and pulls out a chair for me. Her hand brushes across the bruise on my cheek. "It's healing, but I'm gonna give you some arnica oil for it, okay?"

I nod. "I feel like I should pay you."

Dosia quickly shakes her head. "Nope. I'm gonna even offer you a good spell, alright?"

"Alright," I reply.

"Do you want to talk about what happened now, or at a later time?" She asks, taking my hand gently. "I don't want to push you to talk about it, but I think you should, because that looks like a serious bruise, and then the ones on your neck, I just, I want to make sure you're okay."

I look down. "I, I'm not exactly the most monogamous person."

"No shame in that," Dosia cuts in quickly.

"I was with this guy," I start, my voice shaking. "He, we were, we were doing activities, and I said a name that wasn't his. I had done it before with Peter and he-"

"Peter Jefferson?" Aaron cuts in. "He's gay?"

"Aaron, stop interrupting," Dosia scolds.

"Yeah, Peter. Anyway, I said another name while we were together, and he was fine with it, because, well, we were platonic in every other way, you know?" I sigh. "Anway, this guy was Peter's friend, and I just, I kinda forgot he wasn't Peter, and I said the name that was not his, and he, he got really mad. He slapped me at first, just lightly, not enough to leave this bruise though, and I told him, I told him I wanted to stop. I told him I wanted to go, and-" I stop and take a shaky breath, tears forming in my eyes. "I just, I wanted him to stop. I asked him to stop." My voice cracks into a sob. "He didn't stop."

"Oh my God," Dosia whispers. She pulls me into her arms and strokes my hair. Aaron comes over and hugs me too, obviously very concerned.

"He, he hit me, and he wrapped his hand around my neck, and I couldn't breathe," I go on, shaking. "He wouldn't let go, he wouldn't stop. I, I had to kick him off of me, push him away. He just, he wouldn't stop. I'm sorry."

"No, no, Phillip," Aaron whispers lightly. "Don't be sorry. This wasn't your fault. Shh, it's not your fault. You're okay, that's not gonna happen to you anymore. We're not gonna let it happen. Shh, it's okay."

"I, I feel so bad, like I should've done more," I sob.

"You did everything just right," Dosia states. "You protected yourself. You're safe. You're right here. It's okay. You're okay."

I cry for a while, just staying in their arms. It had been a long time since I hadn't experienced any type of parental love in a while, so this pleasant session of crying, not just about the assault, but everything else, was almost nice in its own way. I didn't know how much I needed a good long cry. Aaron and Dosia stayed with me the whole time, hugging me, stroking my hair, whispering gentle things to me.

"I'm sorry, God, it's just been a while since I cried like that," I laugh almost, a sob escaping my chest as I do so. I wipe my eyes and sigh. "I just, thank you."

"Of course, Phillip," Aaron says quietly.

"Are you gonna tell your parents?" Dosia asks.

"I don't know if I should," I mumble. "They just, the house is already so tense and they would blame each other since I wasn't at home for a reason. I really, I don't want to make things worse. Maybe when things calm down, but just, not now."

"Okay, honey," Dosia says. "I'm glad you told us though. If you ever need to talk to someone, we're here. You should tell your parents eventually. They won't be mad at you, I promise. I know them well."

I nod. "I wish, I just, I don't know. I shouldn't have gone there. The guy, he was sketchy."

"Are you gonna tell your other dudes?" Dosia asks, holding my hands gently.

I shrug. "Should I?"

She thinks for a second. "I think you should talk to Lafayette. He's been in a very similar situation. He could probably give you better advice than I could."

I nod. "I'm gonna go to his house since it's just a few blocks down, but, could I maybe spend the night here? Just, one more night? Your house is one of the few places I feel safe anymore, you know?"

Aaron nods quickly. "Yes, yes of course. Would you like a ride to Laf's?"

I shake my head. "I can walk. Thank you. I'm gonna go let Theo know that I'll be back in a bit, as well as grab my jacket from her room."

"Okay, hun," Dosia nods. I get up and thank them one more time before heading up to Theo's room. I slip on my shoes and jacket, then whisper to her sleeping figure that I'll be back, before exiting. Most of my dad's friends live on the east side, so Lafayette's house is only a few blocks away. I get there quickly, knocking on the door and looking around, almost paranoid that I'm going to be seen by Jacky. It takes a few seconds, but Lafayette does answer. He has his hair tied up, and I can guarantee there's coconut oil soaking into it, as well as some other type of deep conditioner. Lafayette has always enjoyed soft hair. He and I sometimes do deep conditions together, though we haven't in a while.

"Phillip, Georges is still sick," Lafayette says, smiling.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you?" I say quietly.

Lafayette nods quickly. "Of course! Come in, amour. I like your hair."

"Thank you, Dosia just cut it, like, twenty minutes ago," I say, smiling a bit as I go and sit down at the kitchen table.

Lafayette sits in front of me and folds his hands. "So, what do you need?"

"You and I, we both were not very monogamous people. Well, I'm still not, but you get it more than a lot of people," Is start.

Laf nods.

"You were a sex worker while you did that, yeah?" I continue.

Laf nods again.

"Did you, did you ever get assaulted?" I ask quietly.

"Yes," He answers quickly. "A couple times. I got beat by one dude, and some other guy touched me and did things to me that I only recently realized was assault. Why do you ask?"

"When, when that happened, did you tell the other dudes you were sleeping with?" I continue, looking anywhere but him.

He nods. "Yes. I may have no committed to them in the way I committed to Hercules, but it was important for them to know. They needed to so they knew to be a bit gentler with me, and make sure none of their actions are triggering in any way. Why do you ask?"

I shrug. "I just was wondering."

"Did something happen?" Laf asks quickly.

I groan. "It wasn't a big deal. I'm just thinking over whether to tell my other dudes."

"You should," Lafayette states. "Are you okay? Is... that bruise... that's... what happened?"

I shrug. "I just did something he didn't like, and he got mad. I got out of there though, so I'm okay. With your advice, I should probably go make my rounds. Is it okay if I go say a quick hello to Georgie boy?"

Lafayette nods. "Pip, if you need to talk to anyone, I'm here."

I look at him as I stand up, smiling. "Thank you."

He nods and I begin to make my way upstairs. I glance at family photos. They kept up the one of me, Georges, my dads, and Laf and Herc. I feel like that was more Herc's doing than Laf's since he's most definitely not the happiest with my dad's actions. I hope he doesn't stay mad forever though because I know their friendship meant a lot to my dad.

I gently push open Georges door, seeing him asleep with the Netflix 'are you still watching' screen on his laptop. He has his window open and fans going, which means he probably still has a fever. I walk into the bathroom and get a cool washcloth, then go back to his room and place it over his hot forehead. He groans lightly but doesn't wake. I sigh, kneeling down and resting my head on his arm, holding his hand and thinking. Peter is right, he's an asshole. But I, I just, he pisses me off because he's confusing. I don't like that.

"God, Georges," I mumble. "You're confusing, you little shit. Why you gotta do this?"

"Mmf, fever dream," Georges mumbles, reaching his hand over and batting at my face.

"Yeah, I'm just a dream, Georges," I laugh. "You're one complicated son of a bitch, you know that right? You're doing some weird things to me."

"You're just jealous," he mumbles.

"I am?" I ask, laughing.

"Yeah, 'cause my hair is prettier," he replies.

I sigh and kiss his nose. "It is, Georgie. Get some rest, be better by Monday. I miss you. More than you know."

"I miss you too, you silly boy," Georges says.

I smile and get up, then walk out of his room. I wave goodbye to Lafayette, then step out of the house and into the street. I begin walking with one destination in mind. It doesn't take me long to get there since I take the subway to the lower east side. I walk up to the door and knock a couple of times. Luckily, the exact person I was looking for answers.

"Hey, Pip," Peter says, smiling as he leaned against the doorway, biting his lip. "What brings the most beautiful boy in New York to my doorstep on a day like today?"

"I," I pause a second, looking at him, my chest aching from the fact that I know how sad he's about to be. "I gotta tell you something."


	21. Sometimes strong emotions can cause you to make odd decisions in the wrong moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk of rape in this chapter

/Alex/

"I'm sorry, Phillip did what?" I say into the phone, my eyes wide.

"Your son was involved in a fight today, and we need you to come to pick him up, as well as talk to the office. Preferably you and... his other father," the woman, Beth, from the school office tells me.

I groan. "Yeah, yeah I'll be right there." I hang up and then dial John's number, waiting for two rings until he answers.

"What do you want?" He snaps.

"We are needed at Phillip's school, he got into a fight," I tell him. "No, I don't know anything else, yes I'll be there in ten minutes, no, I did not know he was going to do this."

John, whose questions I had just answered, pauses, then hums. "See you there."

We hang up and I get up, stepping out of my office and locking it. I see both Jefferson, Madison, and Burr do the same thing. We all look at each other curiously, as if we don't know what the other is doing. I open my mouth, but Jefferson gets his words out before I do.

"My kid was involved in a fight today," he says slowly.

"Oh god," I groan. "What did they do?"

"Let's all go tell Washington we gotta leave early," Madison says.

Together, the four of us make our way to Washington's office. I step forward, the three behind me, looking at the man in front of me. He's at his desk but looks up when he notices us standing in his doorway. He takes off his glasses and leans back.

"Yes?" He says, encouraging us to state what we need.

"All of our children got into a fight, and we need to leave early," I say.

"You, you're joking," Washington scoffs, checking over our faces to see some kind of muffled smile or hidden laugh.

"With all due respect sir, I wish we were," Madison huffs.

Washington pauses. "Then go. Get on with your lives."

I nod and we all walk out of his office, as well as the building, and to our cars. James and Thomas are talking quietly, Burr looks one hundred percent done, and I just look angry most likely. I get into my black SUV and begin driving, muttering curses under my breath. I don't know what the hell happened, but whatever it is, Phillip better have a good excuse. Peter Jefferson? Yeah, I can see the kid getting into a few fights. Theo? For sure, she's a big girl and quite capable of taking someone down. But Phillip? I mean, I love my son, but he's, well, he's not exactly the most in tune to fighting. Sure, he knows basic self-defense, but, like, I just can't see him acting maliciously.

I get to the school and get out of my car. John is waiting for me by the front door. Jefferson and Madison are behind me, as well as Burr. I approach John and nod gently. He looks like he's been crying, which I don't want. I love my John, no matter what, and it always hurts when I know he's been crying.

"John," I say quietly. We begin to walk inside, and I reach for his hand, but he swiftly pulls it away. Next to me, Burr puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic look. He saw that, Jefferson and Madison probably saw that. God, I miss my husband.

"Hey, sweetie," Dosia says, standing up from where she was seated next to Theo when we all walk in. She comes to Burr and whispers something in his ear. Instantly, a smile spreads across Burr's face. He walks over to Theo and pulls her into a hug.

"I'm so proud of you, bug," he says, laughing as he kisses her head.

"Thanks, Dad," Theo smiles.

"Mister and mister Hamilton, we'll see you now," an office attendee says.

John and I are escorted into the principal's office, where Phillip sits. He has a cut on his forehead, as well as a bit of tissue in his nose and a bruise across the bridge. He also seems to have a bit of a bruise on his cheek, though it looks older. We didn't really see him this weekend, so I haven't noticed it until now.

"Phillip was the start of a fight today," the principal says, her face solemn. "He and another student, Jacky Sho, got into a fight in the boy's locker room, and soon enough, Peter and Theodosia Burr joined in."

"Wait, how was Theo in the boy's locker room?" I ask.

"It seems she had accompanied Phillip in there," the principal states. "We asked Phillip what the cause of the fight was, but he refuses to say. He only told us that Peter and Theodosia were just standing up for him, and asked us not to punish them. Of course, by school rule, we had too. Is there anything that you know that could have caused this?"

John shakes his head. "No, no not at all."

"Phillip, would you please excuse us while we talk?" The principal asks, looking towards my son, who has been quiet this whole time.

Phillip nods and leaves.

"Is there anything going on at home?" She asks us quietly. "We noticed a bruise on Phillip's cheek, and it wasn't from the fight."

"We haven't seen him all weekend. He spent it with the Burr's," I tell her honestly.

"Any violence between either of you?" She states, eyeing John suspiciously.

"Excuse me," I snap. "My husband and I are having our issues, but he has never and will never lay a hand on me, and I on him." I take John's hand just at the moment. "We love each other very much, and nothing could change that. Our son is not in a violent situation at home, so back off. Would you please just tell us his punishment?"

"Three-day suspension," she says quietly.

I nod. "Thank you."

John and I get and leave, still tightly gripping each other's hand. When I get out into the main area, Phillip is quietly talking to Burr. I'm mad at this point, so I don't care if I'm interrupting their conversation. Phillip started a fight, a woman just accused my husband of violence, and worst of all, I had to leave work.

"Phillip, come on, we're going home," I say, my voice low.

He nods quickly and we all walk to my car, knowing that we can just pick John's car up tomorrow. John and I release each other's hands and go to either side of the car and get in. Phillip sits in the back, looking down as I begin driving. John is staring straight ahead, obviously thinking of what the woman said. I can tell. He has that look in his eyes. Guilt. He got it every time he relapsed, every time we fought. Wanting to help, I reach over and try to take his hand.

He pulls it away. "Just, just, just, don't touch me right now."

I nod and continue driving. The ride is painfully silent, none of us speaking, the radio not playing. I always want to break the silence, but I don't. Instead, I just focus on driving. I don't know why John let me drive because I'm already bad at it when I'm perfectly fine, but right now I'm angry, so of course, I find myself speeding, swerving. I'm thankful we make it to the house alive. When we do, Phillip goes right inside, not waiting for us. He doesn't use the door that leads us onto the first floor, he instead walks up the stoop and into the living room, us following him.

"Phillip, go sit down, I need to talk to your father for a second," John states.

Phillip follows that instruction and I turn to John, wondering what he needed to say to me. He looks mad. He instantly squares me up, peering down at me, his jaw clenched.

"This is because of you," he snaps. "You and your constant need to fight, fight everyone, fight Monroe, fight the Hale's, fight me."

"Don't you fucking dare blame this on me," I snap. "This is neither of our faults and right now we need to go in there and get the full fucking story before you make a rash decision."

"Oh, you just think I'm going to make the rash decision? What about you?" John growls. "You and you ten-page long essay of who you like to fuck when you got the house to yourself."

I sigh, running my hand through my hair. "No, we're not doing this. We're going to talk to our son. I'm not, I can't, John I can't just keep fighting with you. Just, stop talking to me if you just want to fight. I don't, I'm sick of it. You're acting like a child."

"Oh, I'm acting like a child-"

I cut him off. "Enough. We're going to go talk to our son right now."

He growls but we both walk into the living room where Phillip sits, staring at his hands. I sigh and he looks up at us. His knuckles are bruised and bloody. He looks like he won.

"Do you want to tell us what happened?" John asks, crossing his arms.

"Just some kid was being an asshole," Phillip mutters.

"So you, you beat him up? You got your friends to team up against him?" I ask. "Phillip, I don't believe a word of that. You most definitely wouldn't do something like that."

"It's not a bit deal," he mutters.

"It is a big deal!" I exclaim. "A very big deal! You got suspended! For a fight! You're lucky you only got suspended for a few days! Do you know how bad it could've been?"

"He deserved it," Phillip mumbles. "You weren't there, you don't know what happened."

"Then tell us," John says.

"I can't," he replies, looking down.

"Why not?" I snap.

"Because, because I just can't! I can't tell you! I can just give you the answer! I'm sorry, I just, I don't want to tell you," he exclaims.

I sigh. "You need to. Phillip, at this point, with the information we have, you simply just acted maliciously. You acted without thought, without control, and if that's the kind of person you are, then we need to be having a different conversation."

"Burr said he was proud of Theo, why would he say that?" John asks.

"Because she beat the kid up too," Phillip answers.

"Why would be proud of her for doing something like that?" I push. "Burr is a very rational man who stays out of the conflict as often as possible, so why would he be proud of her?"

"Because he deserved it," Phillip mumbles.

"Yes, but why?" John pushes.

"I don't want to-"

"Tough, why did he deserve it?" I interrupt.

"You can't just keep this from us, Phillip," John states. "We're your parents and if you don't want to tell us, we can easily call Burr."

"I really just don't-"

"You have to tell us," I snap.

"He raped me!" Phillip yells.

John and I are silent.

Phillip stands up, tears coming to his eyes. "He hit me and he raped me and I had to push him away from me and fight for my safety and he was in my gym class and he was mad at me and we started fighting and Peter knew what happened and he fought with me and Theo was there because I was scared because he raped me! Are you happy? Are you fucking happy? I told you! There! You did it! You're good parents again!"

"Oh my god," John whispers.

Phillip wipes his eyes. "I didn't want to fucking tell you guys because shit here is already so fucked up and this is just gonna make it worse! I couldn't just say that, though, could I? You couldn't just trust me? Let me have my fucking boundaries? Sorry if I don't exactly pity the guy, but shit, he deserved it. He fucking got what was coming to him."

"My son," I whisper. I go to him and scoop him up in my arms, holding him as close to me as possible. "Oh my god, Phillip. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. You, oh my god. I'm so sorry."

John wraps his arms around both of us, gently stroking Phillip's hair. "It's okay. It's okay."

Phillip breaks into a sob. "I spent the weekend at the Burr's because they were the only ones that knew. I, I just, I couldn't come home, because I'd be so alone. I just, I'm sorry."

"No, no don't be sorry," I whisper. "We're right here. I'm so sorry this happened, Phillip. I'm so sorry. Deep breaths, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. You're okay. You're safe."

"Phillip, why didn't you tell us?" John asks quietly.

Phillip laughs. "Are you kidding me? The last thing either of you needed to hear was this. I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Phillip, we need to talk about this, this isn't something that we can just brush off," John starts, looking at him.

"I really just can't talk about it right now," Phillip argues, his voice filled with stress, sounding close to being in tears.

"Hey," I whisper quietly. "It's okay. Deep breaths, kid. Deep breaths. You don't have to talk about it yet. You need some time to process it, think, that's okay. You can talk to us about it when you're ready. For now, if you just need a hug, some company, we'll provide, no matter what. It's okay."

Phillip relaxes into me, sniffling. "Shit's just hard right now and you guys were yelling at me, and I'm so sick of yelling. I don't want anyone to yell ever again. Never ever. I'm so fucking sick of it. I'm sick of being scared of coming home. I'm sick of wondering if one day one of you guys are gonna snap and actually hit the other. I'm sick of being used to falling asleep to the sound of yelling. I, I'm sick of you guys being mad at each other." He breaks into a sob. "I just want my fucking family back."

John sighs and hugs Phillip again, resting his forehead on my shoulder. "I'm sick of it too. I really am."

"Then stop!" Phillip cries, his shoulders shaking as he sobs in our arms. "Please. Just stop. I don't want you guys to yell anymore. I don't want you guys to be angry anymore. Please, please just stop."

John looks up at me, his eyes full of tears. I sigh and press my forehead to his, tears coming to my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. We all sit there for a while, crying. John and I stay quiet while Phillip sobs. I don't remember the last time our family was this close. I don't remember the last time I held my husband and my son. I missed this. I missed this so much. I missed loving my family. I went so long in my life having no one. Even when John and I were in high school I still felt like I had no family. My heart was so lonely. Then I fell in love, Lafayette became my brother, Thomas and Aaron became my best friends, the Schuyler's became my sisters, John became my husband. I ruined that, but, things are changing, maybe, hopefully.

"I'm gonna go shower," Phillip mumbles after a while.

I nod. "Okay. Would you like something particular for dinner?"

He shrugs. "I'm not really hungry. I think I'm just gonna go to bed."

John nods. "I'll stay home from work with you tomorrow. Cook you a good breakfast."

"I'm gonna try to take a half day," I mutter, knowing that I do have to show up for work tomorrow. I'm sure if I tell Washington that my son needs emotional support right now, he won't object to me leaving early.

Phillip gets up and walks upstairs to the shower, leaving John and me alone. I look at my husband, and for a second, we're quiet, then he leans into me. I lean back, wrapping my arms around him, and he gently lay there for a bit. John sighs, obviously holding back tears, as he gently rubs my arm.

"We can't fight anymore," I mutter. "We just, we can't. We have to stop doing this."

John nods. "Like Bambi. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

A chuckle escaped my chest. "Are we, is this, are we gonna get better?"

He plants a gentle kiss to my chest and looks up at me. "I don't think we can do that just yet. I just, I, I don't know."

"You need space," I mutter, remembering Herc's words.

John is quiet, so that means 'yes.'

"I can give you space," I tell him gently. "I have no problem with that. I have no problem with letting you think and handle your emotions and vent to our friends and not talk to me for a little bit. I know that this hurts you a lot, so you need to heal. We need to parent together though, even if that's the only thing we do."

John nods. "You're the father to my child, and I'm the father to your child. We're a team, whether we like it or not. I don't think I can be with you again, not yet, but I can be a parent."

I sigh. "Okay. You know I love you, alright?"

"Alright," John answers.

"So take your time. Heal. If this is a journey you need to take alone, then know that I'll be here patiently waiting to see what you find. I, I don't want to give up on us, even when things get rough. You have all of my love because you're worth it," I mumble. "I love you, John. I'll be here when you're ready. Okay?"

John nods. "Okay. Just, sleep with me tonight. I know you've been on that office couch for the past, what, two months? Sleep with me tonight."

I sigh, gently running my fingers through his hair. "Okay."

We both get up and walk to our room. John begins stripping the bed while I open some windows and turn on a fan, letting the room air. Then, I go to help him strip the bed. We find some old sheets that fit. Not the ones used for Nathan, not the ones John bought either. These are flannel, the soft ones we use in the winter. We put them on the bed, as well as the pillowcases. Then, John changes into comfier clothes, not the clothes he usually throws on after work just because he doesn't want to wear his uniform home. I put on some sweatpants and a tee shirt, then we both go downstairs. John starts on dinner, I sit and do work. It's homely.

"Whatcha making?" I ask as I get up and wrap my arms around him from behind.

"Eager," he chuckles. "Just making some pasta with pesto and tomatoes. If you want to help, you can cut the tomatoes."

"Yeah, cooking," I laugh, pulling out a cutting board and getting a tomato. I begin to cut it into cubes. I'm not too good in the kitchen. I can make burritos at best, as well as some Carribean meals, but anything else is a fucking nightmare. I don't know why John asked me to cut vegetables because I'm very bad at that. Though I start out fine, I end up slicing my finger open, pulling away and loudly yelling some profanities.

"You're never coming into the kitchen again," John mutters, pulling out a first aid kit. I sit on a stool, taking deep breaths, while he wraps my finger with gauze and tape. He looks up at me, smirking. "You ain't gonna be able to type with your finger are bandaged."

"Maybe I can just let myself bleed out," I joke.

John shakes his head. "No. No doing that." He gently kisses my finger. "There, it'll heal faster now."

I sigh and look at him. "You're beautiful."

John rolls his eyes. "Let me cook."

I sit there on the stool, watching him. He is so fluid while cooking. Every motion is planned, every move is thought out ahead of time. I can't look away. His body is just so, so pretty. I find myself hating my choices during that summer even more. How, how could I do this? I had my beautiful John. I had him head over heels for me. I had him face timing me every night. I was stupid. I was so stupid.

"Okay, dinner's ready," John says, placing a plate down in front of me. I struggle with the fork a bit, but easily get a bite into my mouth. I have to close my eyes, let out a moan, and let the pasta stay in my mouth for a second. It's so good. Creamy, salty but not too salty, cooked perfectly.

"John, this is perfect," I mumble.

He smiles, taking a bite. "I'm glad you like it." He falls quiet for a moment, then his mood shifts. "What are we gonna do about Phillip?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, taking another bite.

"We can't just, Alex he got, he got raped," John mumbles. "Things are going to get better, but not if he's alone in this. Neither of us knows anything about this, we don't really know how to handle this. Neither of us has ever been... that hasn't happened to either of us. We, we need to educate ourselves, learn how to handle this. Maybe we should get Phillip back into counseling. No, we definitely should get Phillip back into counseling. Something."

I nod. "I don't think we should force him into anything, especially now. One of us should talk to Lafayette since I know he probably went through something like this. Read up on it. I'll probably talk to Washington, since he is, well, he's who I talk to when I don't know what to do."

John nods, thinking, then he looks at me. "Did you talk to Washington about us?"

I nod. "I talked to him about a lot of things. I talked about us, I talked about Phillip, and I even got a hug from him a few weeks back. He was very mad at me, but he's not as mad now, still very obviously hurt though."

John chuckles. "Wait, he gave you a hug? At work? Hold on, how did this happen?"

I sigh, smiling. "This is going to give you an awful lot of satisfaction. We, the college crew, tricked Washington into believing thot meant 'that hero over there' and then he said 'you are all thots, except Alex' and everyone started laughing and I guess I was having a rough day so I almost started crying and then I told them that they were being unprofessional and I kinda said this whole thing about how I haven't let my emotions affect my work and how I didn't promote violence even when Angie slapped me in the parking lot, and then Washington took my side. After the meeting, I stayed after and thanked him and he asked me what I needed and I said a hug jokingly and he then he got up and hugged me."

John smiles, raising his eyebrows. "Hold on, Angie slapped you?"

I nod. "See, I knew something would make you laugh. Yeah, she asked me if the parking lot was part of our company property, and when I said no, she slapped me. Hard too, like damn."

John sighs. "You just, you didn't catch a break did you?"

I shake my head. "Lafayette called me a bastard, Jefferson blew up on me, Madison blew up on me, Aaron blew up on me in a very Aaron like way, Angie slapped me. Oh, Monroe? Had a fucking vacation."

John sighs and places his hand on my cheek. "Next time you cheat on me we can just keep it between us, yeah?"

I shake my head. "No next time. No next time, John."

He's quiet for a moment, then gently leans in and kisses me. "I know this isn't gonna last. I know tomorrow I'm still gonna be just as hurt, but I want to just be with my husband right now. I want my husband to be with me."

I nod, pressing my forehead against his. He stands up and kisses me again, leaning closer to me. I kiss back and wrap my arms around his neck. The last time we kissed like this it was angry, hate-filled, disgusting. This is different. This time, his hands are holding gently onto my hips. I lean back, standing up and tugging John closer to me. I can feel him getting hard and I grind against him gently, treasuring the small sweet moans he lets out. I tangle his hands in his hair and moan lightly as he kisses down my neck.

"Oh!" I say lightly as John turns me around so my stomach is against the countertop. He grinds into my ass and gently rubs my front, kissing my shoulder and gently biting it. He places his hand over mine and gently kisses my neck and jaw.

"You're beautiful," he whispers lightly.

I sigh slowly and lean my head back against shoulder as John begins to pull my sweatpants down. I whine as he grabs my dick and starts jerking me off. Impatient, I reach around and give his sweatpants a tug, trying to pull them down, though it's hard from this angle.

He laughs. "Okay, okay, I get it. We're gonna pull a Greek move and use olive oil, ight?"

I roll my eyes. "Why is this something we've done on multiple occasions?"

John chuckles, grabbing the olive oil and pours some on his fingers so he can finger me and get me harder. "Remember that one Thanksgiving in our last year of college? We decided to spend it in a cabin upstate and we forgot lube but had butter?"

I laugh and moan as he pushes his fingers into me. "Oh my god, that was such a mess. How about that time we didn't have any lube in that hotel and we had to go out at two in the morning to an open sex shop to get some?"

John chuckles, moving his fingers around in me. "The things we've done to have good sex. You think you're ready?"

I nod, clenching my eyes shut as he brushes my prostate. "Yeah, yeah I'm ready."

He gently kisses my shoulder and then pulls his fingers out of me. I wait for a second and then moan gently as he pushes into me. John gently grabs my hips as he bottoms out, giving me a second to adjust before thrusting into me at a steady pace.

"Ah, John," I mutter, placing my hand over his. "Ah, fuck, please go faster."

He thrusts in my roughly, causing me to knock over a glass. My body shakes as he thrusts into me, making me become harder. I bite my lip and tilt my head down, feeling tears dot my eyes as he thrusts a bit harder. The counter digs into my stomach but I hardly notice as John thrusts into me. I lean down and quickly pull myself back up when my head hits the wooden top of the counter a couple times.

John chuckles when he notices this. "You okay, baby girl?"

I groan, feeling him gently reach up and run his fingers over my head. "I'm fine. We've been fucking for about thirty years, baby, I got used to you being rough when I was twenty."

He laughs, kissing my neck. I move my ass against his front and listen to him moan my name lightly. I smile almost, though it's hard when I'm moaning and then trying to stop moaning since Phillip is upstairs. John reaches one of his hands around and sticks two fingers in my mouth so I can bite down. I gotta say, this is a lot better than being choked and rawed on the couch. It feels a lot nicer.

"Ah, fuck this," John mutters. He pulls out and turns me around. I'm pushed back against the counter and kissed, then John grabs my leg and pulls it up, then thrusts back into me. I gasp against his lips, slipping my hand under his shirt and scratching down his chest. He pulls away and begins kissing over my face as he thrusts into me. I'm almost crying from how good this feels. He's holding me so close, and we are so close. Last time we had sex, there was no love, there was no joy, there was nothing. This time, this time John is holding me close, kissing me.

"Ah!" I cry out, my voice cracking as John begins to jerk me off.

"Oh, fuck, ah, yes, come on baby, say my name," John whispers in my ear, moving his hand faster.

"Oh, oh John, oh, John," I moan lightly, trying not to be too loud.

"That's not my name," John mumbles, nibbling on my earlobe.

I let out a long deep moan. "Oh, papi, papi yes. Please. Please, papi, fuck me harder. Oh, oh yes, papi, so good."

John chuckles and plants a wet kiss on my lips, forcing his tongue into my mouth. I moan as I feel an orgasm build up in my stomach. He must be close as well because he begins moving and thrusting faster. I whine slowly as I bite down on his lip, trying to contain myself. Finally, though, I finish in his hand, breathing heavily. It doesn't take much longer for him to finish, coming to a stop and just leaning against me for a few minutes, both of us breathing heavy.

"Turn around, kitten," his mumbles as he pulls out.

I do so wearily and he gets down on his knees, eating my ass, sucking the cum out. I grip the counter tightly, moaning as he finishes up emptying me, which is something that is always appreciated when you get rawed. He then stands up and kisses me, letting me taste his cum. I gently wrap my arms around his next and pull him closer, smiling as he gently rubs my sides. His body feels so close to mine.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," I mutter.

He chuckles and looks to our probably cold food on the counter. "Come on, let's just pack that stuff away. We can watch a movie or something, yeah?"

I nod and get my sweatpants back on and clean up a bit before washing the dishes John emptied and placing them in the dishwasher. We make our way up into the living room and pick out a movie called Le Corbeau, a French noir film about a doctor who is rumored to have been performing unlawful abortions, then the whole town gets exposed for something or another. Though John doesn't speak French, he picked it out, which means he most likely wants to talk to me. I never minded ignoring the French greats to listen to him talk.

We climb into bed and John holds me close as the movie starts. John gently plays with my hair as we become glued to the silver screen, though it's a lonesome bore, and we've viewed this ten times before. My hands draw small shapes against his chest.

"Do you want to divorce me?" John asks quietly.

I look up at him. "No, no of course not. Why would you even ask that?"

John shrugs. "Well, I mean..." he gestured vaguely to everything. "Then, then you've suggested it while we were fighting a couple of times, and then..." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "Then when I almost hit you. I just, I don't know."

I sigh gently. "You were drunk. That wasn't your fault. I only brought up the idea of divorce because, because you just seem so unhappy with me, John. You don't seem like you're in love anymore. Yeah, I know things right now are different, but that's just right now. What if you wake up tomorrow and feel different? I just, I wanted you to be happy, I've always wanted you to be happy, and if that means I have to leave you..." I swallow a lump in my throat. "Then that's what it means. As long as you're happy."

John doesn't talk for a few minutes, obviously thinking. He drums his fingers gently against my arm, staring blankly ahead at the black and white pictures flashing across the screen. I await his pithy gently, feeling tiresome but ready for an answer at the same time.

"I think," John starts. "I think that I'm not happy with you, but I am happy with you."

"You're going to have to elaborate," I mumble, laughing.

"I'm not happy with the man who humiliated me, with the man who broke my heart. Because, because you did both of those things. I was dealing with trying to manage the fact that my chest was aching from a constant longing for you, as well as the fact that everyone, and yes, I do mean everyone, knew that I was the husband who wasn't good enough," John explains. "But, but I am happy with you. I'm happy with you because you know every single thing about me. I happy with you because you've always been there for me. I'm happy with you because you, you just, God, you're Alexander fucking Hamilton. I have your name tattooed over my heart. Alex, I, I'm so fucking in love with you. We've been married for twenty years, Alex. I've woken up with you next to me since I was fourteen. I just, I can't imagine my life without you. I would fall apart. I love you."

I bite my lip and press my face into his chest, trying to hold back tears. "I love you too."

"You can cry, Alex," John whispers. "Just, it's okay."

A sob breaks through my chest and I bury my head in the crook of John's neck, holding him closer. He sounds like he's crying too. We both just sit there for a while, holding each other and crying. John gently plays with my hair, I hold his body as close to mine as I can. Eventually, though, we calm down, sit up, and wipe our cheeks.

"That felt good," John mutters, laughing a bit. "We're totally missing the movie."

"Worth it," I mutter.

"I, I've been going to AA meetings again," John confesses, his eyes flitting downward.

I smile and take his hand. "I'm proud of you."

John sighs in we fall into a bit of silence, watching to the movie. I tap my fingers against his chest and watch the screen, watching as something happens. Though I've seen the movie a bunch of times, I will have trouble keeping up with it since it's so very boring. I don't know why John and I have so many French noir movies, since they are all mind-numbing, and only Phillip and I know French, but I think it's just so we can look pretentious when we have the occasional house party with some other lawyers that aren't our friends.

"That was incredibly boring," John mumbles when the movie ends.

"I knew what was going on and even I thought it was boring," I hoke.

"Maybe I should-"

John's cut off by screaming. I know exactly what screaming that is. I watched Phillip grow up, and when he was young, he had night terrors, bad ones. This is that screaming. So, John, who probably knows it too, jumps out of bed with me and both of us are sprinting up the stairs. We get to Phillip's quickly but stop when we open the door. He's standing there, crying, vomit on the floor and a little on his chin.

"Oh, Pip," I mutter quietly. "John, you go get some paper towels."

He nods and goes back downstairs. I grab a tissue and wipe off my crying son's chin, then take him in my arms. He cries into my chest and I hold him, both of us sitting down onto his bed until John comes back upstairs with paper towels. I let go to clean it up, but John stops me.

"Babe, you're a lawyer, I'm a vet, let me clean up the vomit," he says. I nod and take Phillip in my arms again. John cleans up the mess quickly, obviously knowing exactly how to do this. He leaves momentarily to throw them away and wash his hands, then he comes back up and sits with Phillip and me, gently holding Phillip with me while our son cries. I sigh and gently kiss Phillip's forehead and sit there with him.

"You wanna come to sleep with us tonight?" I ask quietly when Phillip stops crying as hard.

He nods, sniffling. "Both of you?"

John kisses Phillip's head. "Yes, yes both of us."

"Okay," he mumbles. We all stand up and go down to mine and John's bedroom. The three of us get in together, Phillip between John and I. I gently run my fingers through Phillip's hair while he cries into John's chest. John and I are sharing concerned looks, knowing that we do need to talk about this.

"Hey, shh," I whisper. "Don't worry," I begin to sing, "sweet Phillip, about a thing, 'cause every little thing's gonna be alright. Woke up this morning, smiled at the rising sun. Three little birds on my doorstep, singing sweet songs. A melody pure and true. Singing 'this is my message to you ooh ooh.'"

Phillip laughs a bit when I make my voice go deep for the last part of the song.

"Don't worry, about a thing," I continue. "'Cause every little thing is gonna be alright. Singing don't worry, my son, about a thing, 'cause every little thing is gonna be alright." I stop singing and gently kiss Phillip's head. "We got you, Phillip. We're right here. We're gonna protect you. Don't worry."

"Did you have a night terror about what happened?" John asks.

Phillip nods.

"We'll talk more about this tomorrow, okay? I'm gonna take a half day and be home by eleven or noon, so if you two sleep in like I know you like to do, I should be back about an hour after you wake up. I'm gonna pick up some take away, what do you guys want?" I ask.

"Mexican?" John suggests.

"Spring rolls," Phillip states.

"I'm gonna pick up vegan enchiladas, spring rolls, and some lasagne for me," I state, deciding that it's worth running around a bit just to avoid a debate about food. "Yeah?"

Both my boy's nod.

"Okay, come on, it's getting late," John says. "It's bedtime."

"I love you guys," I mutter, closing my eyes.

"Love you too, dad," Phillip whispers.

"Love you too, hun," John mumbles.

I wake up the next morning and quietly crawl out of bed. I get dressed real quick and kiss my son and husband on the head before heading downstairs and getting my coffee. I sit there for a bit, thinking of what I'm gonna do. I think when I get to work I'm going to talk to Washington.

I grab my keys and walk out of the house, my coffee, and briefcase in my hand. I get into my car and begin driving, knowing I'll be a bit early. I never minded being early to work, because it was nice to have a few minutes of silence. Monrow never shows up early, so it's like going to heaven without Christopher Columbus.

"Morning, Alex," our receptionist says.

I nod at her and step into the elevator, leaning against the wall and relaxing. John and I are going to have to figure out something for Phillip. He's obviously not okay. Counseling should definitely be brought up. Maybe I should get him a dog. John and I had this one dog before Phillip and he was the coolest thing. He died a few years before Phillip was born, but I wouldn't mind having another dog. We could adopt one of those old therapy dogs. Those are always sweet.

"Mr. Washington," I say, knocking on his office door.

"Work hasn't begun yet, Alex, you can call me George," he smiles, looking up.

"Yes, sir," I mumble. "May I talk to you about something?"

Washington sets down his papers and peers up at me, his face etched with concern as he gestures for me to sit. "Yes, yes, of course, Alex. Is something wrong? Did something happen? Is this about John? Or why you had to leave early yesterday?"

"Phillip got into a fight at school," I state.

"Oh? I see he is exactly like his parents," Washington chuckles.

"He, he and Peter and Theo all ganged up on one kid, for good reason though," I state. "The kid, he, he did something to my son, something awful, and as a parent, as a parent, I don't know how to help my son handle this. I don't, nothing like this has ever happened to neither me nor John. John, he, he doesn't know what to do, I don't know what to do, I don't know how to really help, and I guess, from one father to another, do you know what would help? You, you are, you know more than me."

Washington sits back and looks at me. "Eliminate you and John fighting. That can't happen anymore."

I nod. "John and I, we actually talked about that last night. I think, I think things are gonna get better for him and I. We, uh, we had dinner together, just us since Phillip went up to his room, and then, we uh, we, we watched a movie."

"I appreciate you sparing me from any gory details you're leaving out," Washington states. "Hamilton, truthfully, you just need to be there for your son. Give him space when he needs space, let him cry and vent. You cannot change what happened, but as a parent, it's your job to take care of your child. Focus on him. I know you can do this. I've seen you help John in more ways than you know, so I know you can help Phillip just fine. Make sure to seek professional help if he needs it. Okay?"

I nod, standing up. "Thank you."

"Of course, Alex," Washington replies. I step out of his office and run right into Burr, who looks almost nervous to see me. I remember Phillip telling me that he knew, so I'm sure he is quite curious to know if Phillip told me too.

"Hey, Hamilton," Burr chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Thank you for being there for Phillip this weekend," I say. "I'm glad he was able to talk to someone. I owe you a beer."

Aaron shakes his head, smiling. "No, no you don't owe me shit. Just, make sure Phillip is okay, alright? And send him over whenever you need to, just text me and I'll pick him up. We love having him over."

I pull Aaron into a hug. "Thank you."

Aaron hugs me back tightly. "Hey, any time."

"Is Hamilton having another affair?" A voice teases.

I turn to see Monroe, laughing. I smirk. "You make fun, yet I'm the one who gets paid more. I won those cases the same way I got not one, but two lovers. My intelligent persuasion tactics, and by the looks of your paycheck and the absence of a ring on your left hand, you don't have that. So, with all due respect, Mr. Monroe, eat my shit."


	22. Halloween isn't always that good when you don't spend it with the people who really care about you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo we got some sex in here that isn't exactly wanted but not exactly non consensual

/Phillip/

"I like your hair like this," Theo comments as she braids two dutch braids into my hair. Peter lies between my legs as we wait for Georges to show up. Ever since the fight, Peter has been extremely protective over me. He felt a lot of guilt about what happened since Jacky was his friend and he didn't notice anything off about him. I refuse to let Peter take the blame though, so if he feels better by making sure I'm okay whenever he can, then I'll let him. So, as the three of us return to school on Monday, also known as Halloween, since we were all suspended, we sit together under the bleachers, eating lunch and talking. Peter is between my legs with his head on my thigh. He's not trying anything though, just resting his eyes. I told him I highly doubted what happened would disrupt any of my after-school activities, but Peter still promised not to do anything unless we were very clearly about to do a lot of things.

"It is cute," Peter comments. "I've never seen him with a shaved head, but it looks awesome on him."

"Guys, you say shaved head as if it's all gone," I joke. "I got it shaved on the sides. You can't even tell it's shaved if I have my hair down."

"Hey guys, hey Peter," Georges mumbles, sitting down next to me.

"Hey Georgie, do you like Pip's hair?" Theo smiles, beginning to work on the second braid. "My momma cut it."

"It looks good," Georges says. "Why's Peter here?"

"He's my friend," Theo says. "And Pip's."

"Also we all grew up together?" Peter throws out. "You can just ask me by the way, you don't gotta detest me."

"Whatever," Georges mumbles. "So all of you got suspended for the same fight?"

"My perfect record has been tarnished, but like, worth it," Theo comments, laughing. "Man, I'm glad I take all those kickboxing classes. The moment that guy hit you, Pip, I was like, on his ass. Thanks to Peter holding him back, I got a few kicks in."

"Then we got those other guys who fucked me over," Peter chuckles, gently touching his still fading black eye.

"I bit Jacky," I laugh. "Like full on bit him."

Theo begins cackling. "Yes! I grabbed some guys balls and like, broke them I think. It was amazing. Then that fuckin' asshole getting me right in the nose, the piece of shit."

"What was the fight even about?" Georges asks.

Theo falls silent as both she and Peter look to me, silently wondering why I haven't told Georges, my supposed best friend, what happened. I bite my lip and look to a now very confused Georges. He can tell the mood changed and is staring at me with curious eyes. I don't want to tell him. I really don't. He already judges me for what I do, and he'll use this as an excuse to judge me even harder. I just, I know he's not going to react well if I tell him, so I'll tell him later. I'll tell him after all of this has blown over. I'll tell him when he stops having feelings for me.

"Oh, just some kid being an asshole," I laugh, leaning back.

"That's a lie," Georges states.

"Well he was being an asshole," Peter sticks out, obviously trying to help me. "Something about Pip being a bitch or whatever. Then he hit first and started beating on Pip, and so we had to fight him off. It's not a big deal. Phillip, do you wanna come over tonight?"

I shake my head. "I got plans with Eaker. He's taking me somewhere. We're probably gonna go get high and fuck, the usual. I'm not busy tomorrow though, why?"

"Hold on, you're not doing anything for Halloween?" Theo complains.

"None of you are even dressed up!" I argue.

"I'm Noodle from Gorillaz," Theo states.

"I'm actually not dressed up so yeah, you got me, Pip," Peter chuckles.

"I'm Michael Jackson," Georges states. "But come on, for real? You're not doing anything for Halloween except getting high?"

I nod. "It's gonna be one of the better Halloweens. I'm not a big Halloween celebrator, so I don't see why I should be forced to do anything."

This is all a lie. I love Halloween. I'm going to a Halloween party with Eaker. I have a tight form fitting police officer costume. I picked it out with Eaker on Saturday. The costume has very very short shorts, a police officer shirt that buttons up, so I can have it as low cut as I want, and then handcuffs and a police officer hat. I'm pairing it with a pair of high top black vans. I shaved my legs for this and everything. Eaker is going as a prisoner, which is going to be exciting. We are going to get high and fuck, but we're also gonna have a lot more fun. My dads agreed to let me stay out as late as I wanted but I would still have to suffer through school.

"You dry gay," Theo teases.

I nod. "You know it."

Eaker picks me up after school. I get into his car and he hands me the bag with my costume. I instantly begin stripping as he starts to drive. I've gotten dressed and undressed in cars many times before this, so it's not like I'm a newbie. I can get changed very quick. One time, I got into a three-piece suit in the back of my dad's car as we made our way to a big gala that we were already late for because it was neon day at the mini golf place. I then had to drive while he got changed, which was a mess, but thankfully traffic is bad in New York so I mostly just had to press on the break.

Eaker, already in his costume, laughs as he looks at me. "Damn, Pip, you got a nice body. Have you lost weight?"

I shrug as I begin to put on the small shorts over my g string, which I wore since I knew I was gonna be wearing booty shorts. "Eating ain't been my main priority recently, gotta get better about that, you feel?"

"I wouldn't want you losing that perfect ass of yours, though you do look pretty fine, still," Eaker smiles as I slip on the shirt. I button it up and then grab the hat and undo the braids Theo put in my hair before putting the hat on and clipping the handcuffs to my shorts. I grab some eyeliner and put it on, then look myself over. The bruise on my nose is still there, and so is the cut on my forehead, but everything else has cleared up.

"How do I look?" I ask, smiling.

"You look hot," Eaker tells me. "What's with the bruise though? I heard you got into a fight? Did something happen?"

I nod. "Some guy did some shit to me so a few friends of mine and I gave him what he deserved. It was fine."

"Did he, did he touch you?" Eaker asks quietly, almost defensive.

I roll my eyes. "Don't make a big deal out of it, and don't tell anyone, I'm fine, okay?"

"You gonna go, uh, talk to someone or something? Like a therapist or whatever?" Eaker asks as he begins to pull into a Burger King. Burger King is one of the few fast food places I go to eat since their French Toast sticks are vegan and so are their hash browns.

I shrug. "My dads asked me, I don't think I do. I, I can handle it."

"You should see someone," Eaker states. "I know a girl, her name is Harriet and you'll meet her tonight. SHe got, she got raped by a dude I once knew. I beat the shit out of him, don't get me wrong, it's not like we talk anymore or anything. Anyway, she got raped by this dude, and for a while, she didn't really do anything about what was going on, then she had a big old mental snap and had to move back home and go to intense therapy. She drank antifreeze, tried to off herself. It was, it was messy. She's okay now, this was a few years back when we were all in high school. It was just, I, I don't want the same thing happening to you, Pip. You know I care about you. So, just, you should go talk to someone about what happened. It's important."

I groan. "Maybe so, but it's Halloween tonight, so I'm gonna get some dick, do some drugs, and get my ass eaten but some straight boy, yeah? This is my favorite holiday, so I'm gonna show it who's boss."

"Yeah!" Eaker cheers. He's finally at the front of the drive-through line and orders some food. "Hi, yeah, I'd like a super-sized number four with a large Pepsi, and I also would like a small coffee, not decaf, and some french toast sticks, with hash browns."

"Alright, that will be ten forty-nine, please go around to the next window," the person from the speaker says. Eaker begins driving, reaching over and placing his hand on my thigh. I place my hand over his and smile a bit.

"You ever see yourself settling down?" He asks me as he hands his credit card to the worker. "Like, for real? Even when you're older?"

I shake my head. "No, not really. My aunt, she has a photography job and all she does is travel. She ain't got no husband, no wife, no kids, nothing. That's my kind of life. I just, I don't get the whole lovey-dovey things. I don't get the idea of falling in love with someone and staying with someone. And before you say this is about my parents, I've felt this way since I was young. Like, at ten I remember thinking marriage was gross. I have like, two exceptions, but that's it."

Eaker takes the bag from the worker and hands it to me before driving again. "I get that. I don't think the whole single life is gonna be forever for me, I do eventually wanna settle down, have the whole picket fence two kids and a, a whatever. Whoever I end up marrying. I don't know at this point."

"You're telling me," I say, laughing as I hand him his burger. "The guy who cooks meth for a living, wants to settle down and have a boring life?"

Eaker nods. "Kid, I'm twenty-one, almost twenty-two. I've never had a boring life. I've been living on my own since fifteen, skirting death since I started selling shit. Chances are, shit's not gonna get boring for another ten years, so yeah, I wouldn't mind being bored for a little bit."

"Sounds awful, to be honest," I point out. "Shit gets boring and I, I do something crazy. Last time life got boring I started having sex."

"Go you, Pip," Eaker laughs and he pulls onto the side of a street so we can eat. I sip my coffee and eat my French toast sticks, listening to the radio. It's relaxing. Eaker keeps one hand on my thigh while he eats his food. I know I'm in for a long night, so I make sure to drink the coffee, appreciate the coffee.

"Hey, can we stop by a corner store and get some five-hour energies? Just in case I start to crash," I say. "Also, one more request."

"Yes, my prince?" Eaker jokes, beginning to drive again to the corner shop that was a block away barely.

"Can you drop me off at school tomorrow?" I ask slowly, watching as we near the old-fashioned corner store that seems to be on every New York street.

He nods. "Yeah, sure thing babe. I'll go in and get the energy drinks, you wait here."

"Yeah. I like grape flavor," I tell him as he gets out.

"Noted," he chuckles.

It's barely seconds after he gets out of the car that my phone begins ringing with a FaceTime request from Theo. I answer it, smiling. "Hello, beautiful."

"You son of a bitch!" She yells. "I knew that was fucking you! You tell us that you're not going to do anything for Halloween and then I see you at a Burger King drive through all sexed up and ready to party!"

I laugh as she flips the screen to show Georges and Franny looking at me. I don't want to laugh too hard because I don't want to mess up my eyeliner. "I know, I suck, but in my defense, I'm about to do drugs with college students, fuck my drug dealer, and have a good ass time. So, yes, I did pass up a high school party for this."

Theo chuckles as Georges sits next to her, looking at the screen. "We wanna see your costume you fag."

I hold the camera out and show them the skimpy attire. "How does it look? Eaker is going as a prisoner."

"Fuck," Goerges mumbles. "You look hot."

Laughing, I move the camera back to my face. "Thank you, that's what Eaker said. I'm gonna be at school tomorrow probably wearing the same thing I was wearing yesterday, so don't give me grief because I'll show you all the hickeys I'm about to get."

"Hey, Pip, I got four grapes and-" Eaker cuts himself off when he sees that I'm FaceTiming someone as he gets into the car. "Who's that?"

"These are my people, Theo and Georges. Theo, Georgie, this is Eaker," I state, wiggling my eyebrows as I show Eaker to them.

"Hey, Theo, good to see you again," Eaker laughs.

"How do you two..." I trail off.

"We met at a party thrown by some of Franny's friends," Theo explains. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we're off to a high school party while you two do the nasty. Love you, Pip."

"Love you too, Theo," I smile.

"Have I told you yet tonight how fucking sexy you look?" Eaker asks as he begins driving. "Like, I could take you right here, right now."

"What time does the party start?" I ask, reaching back and finding my pants, pulling out my wallet where some condoms should be.

"Uh, in about half an hour or so, why?" He asks.

I pull out a condom victoriously and then unbuckle my seatbelt. "Because you are going to pull over and take me."

Eaker swerves through three lanes to get to a shoulder in the road, then slips in the back. I climb back there with him, smirking victoriously. I straddle his lap as we make out, his growing boner digging into my ass. I subtly unclip the handcuffs, then hold them up, smirking gently as i begin to unzip his jumpsuit.

"You have been naughty, and I might just have to extend your time due to bad behavior," I whisper in Eaker's ear.

"Oh, oh fuck," he moans lightly.

"Nuh uh, you have the right to remain silent," I tease as I cuff his hands together. "Anything you say can and will be held against you."

"Phillip," he whispers.

"I guess I gotta be held against you," I laugh.

Thirty minutes later, I'm climbing back into the front seat. Eaker has to lay there for a few more seconds before getting up and climbing up with me. I can see the bruises on his wrists from the handcuffs, and I gotta say, it's a bit satisfying. I've never been one to be overly dominate, and I could never top, but it was nice to have a little bit of control over Eaker. It made me feel a little safer. I did have a few seconds a couple of times where I felt myself freak out, but then I just reminded myself that this was my choice, I could stop any time I wanted, and I'm on top. I have more control.

"That was awesome," Eaker states as he starts the car against, beginning to drive. "You, I mean, you can tie me up any time. You know what, whenever you feel the need to take control like that, you can. Just, yes. I liked that."

"You fucking bottom," I laugh.

"Never," Eaker conforms. "My ass is an exit only place."

I open up a Five Hour Energy and down it like a shot. "Don't knock it until you've tried it. Not with me though. I could never top. I think I would rather fuck a girl than top a boy. It's just, it really is not my thing, you know?"

Eaker chuckles, pulling up to a house. "Yeah, I know. Now, before we go in, these are all adults. Like, Phillip, I can one hundred percent guarantee you are the youngest person here. The thing is though, we can't tell anyone that, especially since I'm not gonna be able to keep my hands off you and oh my God this sounds so rapey."

I tilt my head back and laugh. "I'm a nineteen-year-old taking a year abroad from France to study photography. I'm fluent in French, so it'll sell it. Don't worry, Eaker, no one's gonna know that you're fucking a child."

Eaker groans loudly. "Don't say it like that. It's not like I'm really doing anything wrong."

"I'm at the age of consent anyway, and you're like, only five years older than me, so it's fine. You're fine. Don't worry." I get out of the car and walk to the house, Eaker next to me, his hand on my ass.

We enter and music is booming. I stick my hand in Eaker's pocket to make sure I don't lose him, then let him guide me through the people to the drink table. It's not just drinks though. There's also joints, as well as pills. Like, bowls of pills, labeled as if they were trail mix. I sneak a couple of Xanax while Eaker isn't looking since I know he wouldn't like me doing pills. Then, I pour myself a drink and grab a joint before letting myself get lead to a group of people sitting in the back of the room, talking and laughing. It's five people. Two of them I don't recognize; a black girl and a white guy. The other three I recognize easily. They were at the junkyard when Eaker took me there. Gov, Elbridge, and Rufus.

"Hey, Eaker!" A guy says, smiling.

"Rich, my man," Eaker laughs, bro hugging the only other white guy in the group.

"Hey! It's Phillip!" Gov yells, pulling me into a tight hug. "You look good, kid, but you gotta eat more. You look skinny. How you feeling?"

"Better now that I have a drink in me!" I chuckle, sipping my vodka.

"Who's the kid?" Rich asks.

"This is my date, Phillip," Eaker states.

"Why don't you ditch this place. You look like your sixteen," Rich laughs, ruffling my hair.

I move my head away from his hand, crossing my arms and smirking. "I'm nineteen, and I'm old for my age, I was born to be bad."

Rich chuckles, pinching my cheek. "I was once born to be bad. Where'd you find him, Eaker? I ain't never seen him around you."

"I'm from out of town," I state, sticking my hand in Eaker's pocket. "But enough about me, why don't you introduce me to your friend?"

"I'm Harriet, the only one of these guys who doesn't snort oxy on a bathroom counter," says the girl.

"Harriet," I say slowly. "Ah, Eaker has talked about you."

"All good things, I hope," Harriet jokes, sipping her drink.

"Only the best," Eaker assures her, laughing. "El, you know Pip, right?"

"No, no, this mother fucker was passed out from shooting up some heroin or something when Phillip came and visited us," Rufus laughs. "Elbridge, this is Phillip, who looks illegal but is just legal enough for us to fuck without getting a side eye."

I look up at Eaker, smiling. "Just legal enough."

"So wait, are y'all official? Like, are you guys fucking heavy with each other?" Rich asks, gesturing to both of us.

I laugh. "As if! No, I don't do relationships. Not even with mister George Eaker, as cute as he is." I pinch Eaker's cheek.

Eaker blushes and pulls me into a kiss, grabbing my ass.

"Gay!" Rufus yells. "But really, Pip, if you ain't official with anyone you wanna go upstairs at some point? Try out those handcuffs?"

"Eaker, what is it with people liking my handcuffs?" I joke. "First you in your car and now your friend wants to fuck me later in the night." I look at Rufus. "Of course sweetie, just come and get me, and have condoms please!"

"Ha, I like him, he's cool," Rufus laughs. "Come on, you fools, let's dance."

Eaker pulls me onto the dance floor, everyone else following. Rufus and Harriet instantly grip onto each other, grinding, while Gov and El begin getting rather touchy with one another. Rich finds a girl and starts dancing with her too. Eaker grinds on me, gripping my ass as I sip my drink. I laugh as music booms and Eaker quite obviously gets more excited. He kisses down my neck, sucking on soft places, making me moan lightly into his ear.

"Ah, Eaker," I mumble as his palms me through the tight shorts I'm wearing. "Fuck."

"You wanna find a room?" He asks.

I nod and we quickly make our way upstairs. I find an empty room real fast and Eaker is quick to lock the door and push me onto the bed. I laugh and he pulls down my shorts and lifts my legs, bringing his head down to my ass. My fingers fall in his hand as he eats me out, bringing good feelings into my stomach. He hands me a joint and a lighter from his pocket, so while he eats out my ass, I light a joint up and begin smoking it, moaning gently.

"Can I try something?" He asks as he sits up and unzips his jumpsuit.

I nod. "I'll tell you if I don't like it."

"Pinky promise?" He mumbles, gently stroking my thighs.

"Pinky promise," I laugh, inhaling again.

He smiles and grabs my thighs, moving them so they're together. Since I haven't been very good at eating, a gap is there as he lifts them a bit, probably working to get better aim at my ass. Instead of pushing into me though, he moves his dick between my thighs, thrusting and grinding against mine at the same time.

"Oh," I moan as he reaches his hand under my shirt and pinches my nipple. I squirm and arch my back and he begins to move faster. Unfortunately, I come before he does, but that doesn't stop me from forcing him as far down my throat as I can and bobbing my head until he comes. Eaker moans lightly, gripping my hair and calling out my name.

"That was good," he mumbles as we both get dressed again.

I nod, laughing. "It, it was good. Come on, I did come here to party a little bit, and I'm sure Rufus is gonna want a little bit of me tonight."

"Hey," Eaker mumbles. "I really I just, maybe you should ignore all your instincts and not hook up with a lot of people tonight. I really shouldn't be an exception, because, like, you're just a kid. You, you shouldn't be doing this to yourself at such a young age."

I shrug, kissing his cheek. "But it's so much fun."

He sighs but takes my hand, leading us back into the party. When he's not looking, I take the Xanax in my pocket, grabbing another drink and looking for Rufus or someone I can dance with, since Eaker has greeted some other clients of his. I find Harriet, who is currently drinking and smoking a bong in a circle of people.

"Phillip!" She cheers, pulling me to sit next to her. "You wanna hit off of the bong?"

"I've never hit off of a bong before," I say shyly.

A few of the people in the circle laugh, not maliciously though, more like, like they think it's cute. I know it's not complicated to hit off of a bong, and I know a few people who've done it, I just never have gotten the chance to.

"That's no problem," Harriet tells me. She picks up the bong and hands it to me. "Okay, I'm gonna light it, you hold it. Hold you your hand when you want me to stop lighting it, and make sure to inhale all the smoke in the chamber. You know to hold the smoke in your lungs for a few seconds before you release, right? I wouldn't peg you as someone who's never smoked pot before, especially since you know Eaker and Eaker is only friends with stoners."

I nod. "Yeah, I know. Okay, I got this."

"You go!" Says a guy who I don't know.

I put my mouth to the mouthpiece and Harriet begins to light it. Someone is filming, I can tell from the flash, but I don't mind. I hold up my hand when there's enough smoke in the chamber and inhale it all, feelings my lungs expand inside my chest. I pull the bond away from my face for a few seconds, then let the smoke leak out of my nose. My body relaxes and I lean against Harriet, sighing.

"That was good," I comment.

"Is that kid even legal?" Someone asks.

"He's nineteen," Harriet replies. "Looks young, I know."

I laugh, though I'm beginning to feel uncomfortable from the fact that everyone except Eaker seems to care about my age and take a joint from the middle, letting Harriet light it with her lighter. I begin smoking it, feeling the effects of the Xanax sink into me. The bong goes around a lot, people taking hits. I lean against Harriet as I get higher and higher. I don't know how long we're sitting there, but by the time I actually see a clock off of someone's phone, it's two in the morning. Usually, I'm asleep right now, but I don't feel the need to sleep at all.

Harriet stands up and begins guiding me through the party again, back to the drink table. She hands me a cup of vodka, then eyes the pill bowls, thinking. I take this time to admire her pretty curls, wide hips, and gentle body. I'm usually strictly dick, but when I'm drunk enough, my bisexual tendencies come out, so right now I'm willing myself not to pop a boner from her.

"You do pills?" She asks.

"I'm on Xanax right now," I tell her, smiling as I lean against the table to regain my balance. I'm feeling a little dizzy, especially from the alcohol.

"You need an upper than with the amount of weed your smoking. How about some Adderall? It's good for you, I think," she smiles, handing me a few more pills. I take them and wash them down with my drunk, before letting her lead me into the kitchen. On the kitchen table, a girl lies with shot glasses on her body. A group of people surrounds her, with one guy singled out. An air horn is heard and the guy begins taking all the shots on her body, which have to be about ten. He finishes quickly and cheers while the girl laughs.

"That looks fun," I comment.

"Can I take shots off of you?" Harriet asks me.

I nod.

"Alright, it's my turn!" She yells, pulling me closer. "I'm taking shots off of my good friend Pip, so Vinny, line em up."

"Kids ribs jut out," Vinny points out as I lie down. "It's gonna be easy to stack em up. You got a name, bud?"

"Phillip Hamilton," I laugh, smoking.

"I thought the Hamilton kid was like, sixteen," someone points out.

"I look sixteen, I am nineteen," I argue. Oof, I can't wait for everyone to just be drunk enough to stop questioning my age. By the looks of it though, it won't take much longer. Vinny begins setting shot glasses on my body, filling them up, and I feel a hand snake up the inside of my thigh, touching me more than I would like. I ignore and focus on staying still. I feel like I'm falling backward and forwards at the same time, like, my body is numb but feeling everything.

An air horn sounds and Harriet begins taking shots off of me. I smile as she takes them quickly, then finishes. I sit up, someone's hand still on my leg, then roll off the table. I almost fall over, but Harriet catches me. She laughs and hands me a few more pills.

"These will help you," she states.

I take them and walk with her back into the living room, thinking about what just happened. The feeling of that hand snaking up my leg, just the way, it just... I don't know what it was about the way that felt, but it reminded me of nothing but what happened with Jacky. The way he hurt me, pushed me down, didn't stop when I told him to.

Suddenly, I can't breathe. Ignoring Harriet calling my name, I go upstairs and find a bathroom, quickly stepping in and locking the door. I sit down in the dry bathtub and bring my knees to my chest, trying and struggling to take deep breaths. My head hurts and my eyes begin to water as I gently rub the fabric of my shirt between my two fingers. For some reason, doing that has always helped. Just some calming stimulation to focus on.

"To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark, dock. In a pestilential prison, with a lifelong lock. Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp, shock, From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block," I whisper lightly to myself. It was a tongue twister I learned in seventh grade when I was on the debate team. My dad told me that if I could say that right three times I wouldn't mess up on my speech. He was right. Ever since then though, I seem to use it in moments like these, because all I can focus on are those words, as well as the feeling of cheap cotton on my shirt. "To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark, dock, In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock, Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp, shock, From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block."

Soon, my breathing slows, my eyes dry, and my chest stops feeling so compacted. I sit in that bathtub for a bit longer, counting the tiles on the wall just to make sure any panic that has seated itself in my stomach was gone and done. I'm glad this one didn't last as long, though I feel that is because of all the drugs I'm on. At least I don't have to wait hours for my heart rate to slow and my chest to stop hurting.

Finally, I get up and leave the bathroom, sighing heavily. I make my way back downstairs and smile slightly at the booming party before me. Everyone is drunk, high, or something. People are having sex on the couch, Eaker is talking to someone in the bong circle. Suddenly, Rufus in front of me, smiling as he grips my hips and grinds hard on me. I moan gently and lean against his chest.

"He's so high," Harriet laughs, approaching us. "I'm like, drunk as fuck though, so I can't say shit."

"Girl," Rufus slurs. "Me too."

"I wanna have sex," I say out loud. "With both of you. I was both of you to fuck me."

"This night just keeps getting better and better," Rufus laughs, gripping my ass tightly and grinding onto me.

"I'll suck his dick, you can fuck him," Harriet states. "Come on, I'm sure there's an empty room, somewhere."

Rufus helps me up the stairs as I smoke the final bits of my blunt. I take the vape out of Rufus' hand as we enter a room and take a nice long hit, then hand it to Harriet, who takes an even longer hit. Stupid college kids, being better at drugs than me.

"Fuck, I've been wanting to taste this ass all night," Rufus comments as I fall onto the bed. "You look so fucking hot, Phillip. Your body is just, fuck, it's so fucking hot. Fuck."

I laugh as he pulls off my shorts and pushes my legs up, beginning to eat my ass. For a moment, I almost want to stop. I am not an adult, and I just, I don't know. No, it's fine. This is fine. I fucked Eaker, why is this any different? I look over to Harriet, who has her hand down her skirt, touching herself at the scene. I reach my hand out to her. "Baby, come sit on my face."

She doesn't waste a second, pulling off her skirt and underwear and climbing onto the bed. She positions herself above me and moves down so I can begin eating her out. She's moaning, gripping the bedpost. I barely even notice when Rufus pushes into me, but I do notice when he begins thrusting. I moan against Harriet, causing her to moan. My hands grip her thighs, letting her ride my face. I've hooked up with a total of two girls. My dick was nice enough to where it made the experience enjoyable, but they both told me that I was better at giving head, so I always keep that in mind.

"Fuck, so fucking tight," Rufus mumbles, thrusting hard enough to where I hit my head on the headboard. Harriet obviously didn't notice, since she is too busy getting eaten out by me. I cringe a bit, but continue, since this is a group effort. I reach down and grab my dick, touching myself as Harriet begins to grind harder against my face. It's a little hard to breathe, but that's okay. I forgot how nice it was to give a lady head. Men, men are not always ideal. Yes, most of them shower, but sometimes they can just be gross. Women are never gross. Always so clean and fresh, smelling my roses or sweet pea or lavender. Sometimes they're glittery.

"Hey, is Phillip in here?" A voice says from the doorway.

Harriet chuckles, moving so Eaker can see me. "Yeah, he's here."

Eaker stops, looking at me, then groans. He pulls Rufus of me, who gives a bit of a drunk protest from the floor, then dresses me, with much difficulty since I don't want to leave. Since he's stronger and I'm drunk and high, he gets me dressed and pulls me out of the room, much to Harriet's protest.

"Eaker," I whine. "Why are you being mean?"

Eaker pulls me into a bathroom and sits me on the counter. He grabs a paper cup and fills it with water, then hands it to me. "Drink."

"This doesn't smell like vodka," I point out, smiling as I take the cup.

"Because it's not," he snaps. "Now drink it.

"Damn, okay," I mumble, downing the cup.

Eaker huffs angrily, does one circle of pacing, then comes back to me. "You, you, you can't do shit like that."

"You're not my mom," I point out.

"Yeah but I'm an adult and you are a child, so stop acting like this! Stop acting like you're fine with these people who are years older than you just taking advantage of you! You are a little kid and that's how you should be treated, like a fucking child! Not some, some, some druggie college student!" He yells, holding me in place by gripping my thighs.

"I'm not just some idiot kid," I snap, scrunching my nose up.

Eaker takes my face in his hands. "Yes, you are. You are just a kid, and you need to stop acting like this! I know exactly what you're doing, who you're trying to be because I was once you! This isn't who you really are, this is you being reckless! This is you trying to prove to the world that you're someone you are not! You are not the person who fucks college students and has a three-way at a party and smokes out of a bong in a circle of people and lets a girl take shots off your body while some guy practically gropes you! You are a fucking child!"

"You don't understand!" I cry out, on the verge of tears.

"No, Phillip, I understand all too well, and this shit, this fucks you up, so don't give me that 'you don't understand' shit, because I do," he growls.

"This is all I have left," I whisper.

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Eaker huffs. "Half the people are there are fucked for life, but you still have a fucking chance, this is not your fucking last will or something."

"No!" I yell, pushing him away from me. "This is all I have left of my normal life! The drugs, the sex, I did that all before hell broke loose in my house! I did that all before my pop almost hit my dad! I did that all before I got raped by some asshole! I did that all when I was happy, Eaker." I look down and wipe my cheeks. "I, I was happy when I did those things. I smoked pot with my best friend, I hooked up with boys who cared about me even just a little, I drank champagne with the people I grew up with! This is all I have left of when I was happy! And now, now even this isn't making me happy! Nothing is making me fucking happy anymore, Eaker, but this, this is the one reminder that I had a normal fucking life! The one reminder that I was happy at some damn point!"

Eaker stops, staring at me as tears slip down my cheeks. A gently sob breaks from my chest and for a second longer, he stares at me, then he pulls me into a rough kiss. His hands grip my ass and he pushes me roughly against the counter, hurting my back. Eakers hand makes it way between my legs and begins rubbing me. I kiss back a bit but truthfully, I don't want to be doing this right now. He's angry enough though, and I don't want to push him.

"Have I told you how hot you look since you've lost weight? Yeah, it sucks you've kinda lost your ass, but like, fuck," he groans against my mouth. "You're so fucking tiny."

"Okay," I mutter.

We continue, ending with me getting bent over the counter and fucked. It wasn't that enjoyable. I really felt hurt by what Eaker said to me. I really just wanted to go sleep in his car until it was time to go to school. At least he is giving me a ride. So by the time we're done, I find myself yawning.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"I'm so tired, Eaker," I mutter, leaning against him.

"How much longer until school starts?" He asks.

"I don't know, my phone is in your car," I mumble.

He pulls out his phone, the old iPhone with a cracked screen, and shows me the blaring four thirty-six on the clock.

I groan. "Two and a half hours."

"Come on, let's go sleep in the back of my truck," he mutters.

I nod and let him pick me up. He carries me through the people and then outside. I must've forgotten what fresh air smelled like because I couldn't get enough of it. I'm glad Eaker's truck has an open back because I really don't want to be in another stuffy place. He hands me a blanket and climbs in next to me, laying on his stomach and going right to sleep. I don't fall asleep though. I don't even feel like falling asleep, so I stare up at the sky, watching the clouds. New York is too bright to really ever see the stars, so I just stare up into bleak nothingness. I make sure to shoot a quick text to Theo, asking her to bring me some sweatpants and a sweater to school, then stare back up at the sky. I don't know how much time goes by, but soon enough, Eaker is waking up.

"Come on, Pip," he mumbles, getting out of the truck. "School starts in fifteen minutes."

I nod and get up, forgetting how high I actually am and stumble out of the bed of the truck. I'm about to get it, but first I lean over and vomit. It doesn't taste like much, only stomach acid, pure vodka, and French toast sticks. Then, without missing a beat, I get into the truck. Eaker looks at me sympathetically, but I wave him off and grab my back from the back. My old clothes are in there, but I don't really feel like wearing skinny jeans and crop top right now, which is why I'm very happy when I see that Theo sent back an affirming text.

"Hey, kid, you gonna be alright?" Eaker asks as he pulls up to the front of the school.

"Can we wait a sec? My friend is gonna show up with nicer clothes for me, and I don't exactly want to walk alone in this outfit through my school," I laugh, pointing down to the skimpy shorts and shirt, which is one button away from being totally open. I decide to fix that and begin to button it up a bit more. "And yeah, I'll be fine. Just tired."

"Take some five-hour energy," she says, shoving a few bottles into the side pocket of my backpack. "I bought them just for you."

"Shit, I should probably pay you back," I mutter.

"Keep your money," Eaker insists. "There's nothing I won't do for you, I'll come through for you. You got me, Phillip."

I smile and lean over, kissing him. "Thank you."

A knock on the window startles both of us and I look over to see Theo with a teasing smirk on her face. I peck Eaker's lips one more time, then get out of the car, smiling at my friend. She glances at my outfit then instantly puts her arm around me and rushes me inside.

"You're gonna catch a cold, kid," she laughs.

I take dizzy steps since I am still high and lean against her. "That's okay. How was your Halloween?"

"It was good, I fucked Franny, ate candy, smoked pot," she says.

"Whoa, Phillip." Mr. King stands in front of us to stop us. "You gonna be like that all day?"

"I got clothes for him in my bag, Mr. King," Theo smiles. "I couldn't ask my honorary brother to stop partying, but I gotta make sure he stays safe."

Mr. King laughs as he begins to walk away. "Man, I miss high school."

Theo and I walk into the girl's bathroom and I step into a stall with the half sweatpants half leggings Theo provided, as well as the hoodie. I must say, slipping off that shirt and those tight shorts felt like taking your hair down after a long day. My dick was sore from being compacted, so now it sits happily, gently cradled by soft fleece.

"How was the college party?" Theo asks.

"Hit a bong, had a girl take shots off of me, saw two girls give one guy a blowjob on a couch. It was interesting. Probably won't do it again, so next year I'm coming with you guys to do whatever you did," I say, not really wanted to go into much detail.

"Georges missed you, and he was obviously very jealous that you spent your night with some older guy, he was being a bit of an asshole about it, really, so I smacked him," Theo explains as I step out of the bathroom. "Honey, wipe off your eyeliner, and shit, you look high."

I laugh. "Theo, I am barely holding myself up at this point. Let's just go find a spot to sit down, yeah?"

She nods, gripping my arm and grabbing our bags as we walk out. "Sounds like a plan, you funky gay. Sounds like a plan."


	23. A walk down memory lane with the wrong person and the right people

/Phillip/

Eaker made me promise a really dumb thing after Halloween. He made me promise not to fuck with any of his adult friends beside him. I don't think I would really get the chance to anyway, but still. I find it kinda hypocritical that he won't let me fuck any of his adult friends beside him. I don't really know if I want to be with Eaker on this level though anymore. Some of the things he said on Halloween, especially about my weight, made me feel really uncomfortable. Right now though, I am sitting next to him in a planned parenthood office. Why are we here? Well, I have a sneaking suspicion that the one person I didn't use protection with on Halloween, which was Rufus, wasn't clean. So, here we sit in the office, waiting for the doctor to call me into her office to get my results.

"Hamilton," a calm voice says.

"I'll be back in a bit," I mumble to Eaker. I get up and walk over to the woman. "Ah, Doctor Baptiste, how are you?"

She smiles. "I'm good, Phillip. Why don't you come on back?"

I follow her to the back and sit down in her office. As always, it smells nice and has posters up about sex, STD's, pregnancy, being gay, whatever you wish. That's one thing I like about planned parenthood, it always feels so safe. I wouldn't be scared if I was constantly in planned parenthood.

"So, what are my results?" I ask nervously.

"Feel lucky, it's nothing bad. Just chlamydia, hun. I'm prescribing you some antibiotics, and it should clear up in a few days, but you're going to have to avoid sex for another week after the prescription, so you are going to have to be abstinent for two whole weeks," Doctor Baptiste explains to me.

I groan. "Fuck, I know exactly who I got it from too."

"You usually use protection, is this someone special?" She asks.

I shake my head. "No, I was just wasted and he was wasted and I was preoccupied with someone else while he did the do, so that's probably when it happened. I'm seeing him later most likely so I'll just tell him what's going on."

"That sounds like a good idea," Doctor Baptiste agrees. "Your prescription is gonna be at the pharmacy in about an hour, so you and your... friend have some time to kill. He is just your friend, right?"

I nod. "Why?"

"Because, he, he looks like an actual adult, and as much as we are a judgment-free zone, we also prioritize safety, and we don't want any of our patients getting taken advantage of, so I'm just checking on you," Baptiste explains. "You can give them your insurance up front, and they'll put it on your bill. Have a good day, Pip."

"You too, doctor," I smile, standing up. I make my way to the front desk and pay with the insurance card that I always have, then motion to Eaker that it's time to go. He gets up and smiles at me as we walk to his car.

"So, what did they say?" He asks.

I groan loudly. "I have a prescription to pick up, but we have about an hour to kill until then, so what do you want to do?"

"What did you get?" He asks.

"It's embarrassing to talk about STDs with my fuck buddy," I mutter.

"Now, come on, have some faith in me. I've gotten shit before too, so I'll just gently tease you about it, nothing mean," Eaker laughs.

"I got chlamydia," I groan. "From your friend Rufus, no less."

Eaker laughs. "Oh yeah, I hear him talking about that. What do you want to do for an hour? We could go get a bite to eat. I'll even go to that vegan pizza place you like."

I nod, smiling. "That sounds great."

I jump when my phone starts ringing. I pull it out of my pocket and sigh when I see my dads contact. I really didn't have any plan to see my parents today, so seeing that he's calling me isn't exactly the best news in the world, but he's trying so I won't ignore it.

"Hey," I say, putting the phone to my ear and motioning to Eaker to be quiet.

"Why did I just get a bill on our insurance from planned parenthood for an antibiotics prescription?" He snaps instantly.

"Because they got prescribed to me," I answer slowly.

"Why the hell do you need antibiotics?" He asks, obviously mad. I don't get why he's mad, because truthfully, it's not that big of a deal.

"Because I got biotics in me," I tell him.

"From what?" He continues.

"Do I really have to talk about this right now? Can you please just wait until I get home?" I beg, not really wanting to get chewed out by my dad while Eaker is right next to me. "It's not a big deal, I just got a little sick at a party and I needed some meds."

"Like a fucking STD?" My dad snaps.

"Yeah," I mutter.

"So what? You're just going to parties and sleeping around?" My dad continues. "Do you know how irresponsible that is?"

"At least I'm not cheating on my husband," I snap before hanging up. I put my phone on airplane mode before he can call back and sigh loudly. Eaker gently takes my hand as he pulls into the parking lot near a subway station.

"Come on, we're gonna go to a little Stop N Shop uptown, alright? I got a friend working there," Eaker tells me, smiling. We get out of the car and walk into the subway station, down the steps, hopping over the turnstiles. A few seconds later, the train arrives and we get on, sitting on a seat. I lean against Eaker and close my eyes. I don't think the ride is too long because soon enough, we're getting off.

"Washington Heights," Eaker smiles, stepping onto the pavement. "It's a Latino community but I know enough people here to not get second looks."

"My parents used to live here," I mumble. Eaker takes my hand and we continue walking. It's hot out, so I do regret the fact that I'm wearing all black. Just some ripped jeans, a black tee shirt, and my black circle glasses. My hair is up in a bun, showing the shaved underside. Eaker says the look suits me.

"You know, you put up with too much shit," Eaker states.

"Everyone is telling me that," I laugh. "I think y'all are just sensitive. I'm fine."

Eaker shakes his head. "Kids your age. No, you do. You put up with shit from Georges, you put up with shit from your dad, yourself, people you don't even know. You let yourself get walked all over and you take it with a smile."

"I should work in retail," I joke, chuckling as Eaker guides me across the street to the little corner store. I smile as he takes my hand, pulling me inside.

"Hey, yo! Sonny!" Eaker yells out.

"Eaker? My man!" Sonny yells. A guy who looks a bit older than Eaker comes out, Hispanic skin and curly black hair. "How you living?"

Eaker bro hugs Sonny and chuckles. "I'm living well, you know, getting by. Is Usnavi around? I haven't' seen that ancient fucker in a while. I miss him."

"He is," Sonny laughs. "Yo! Usnavi! Eaker is here!" Sonny looks to me and cocks his head. "Who's the kid? He doesn't look legal enough for you."

"He ain't," Eaker chuckles. "Just sixteen, I've been watching over him. This is Pip."

"He like William?" Sonny questions as footsteps are heard in the back.

"Nah, he got a family, shit's just hectic," Eaker answers.

"Hey!" Says an older looking guy, salt and pepper hair. He has a white tee shirt and a red unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, as well as a cabbie hat. He looks really familiar, but I can't tell from where. He has a nice smile though.

"Usnavi! Good to see you, man," Eaker laughs, hugging him. "How's the bar?"

"It's doing well," Usnavi replies. He then looks over at me and stops, cocking his head. "Do I know you? You look familiar."

I shrug. "I don't know."

"What's your last name?" He asks, coming a bit closer.

"Hamilton," I state.

Usnavi's eyes light up. "You're Alex and John's kid! Oh my God, last time I saw you, you were not even walking, now look at you? Shit, how are your parents? It's been too long, I think last time I saw them it was, God, you were twelve. Wow, look at you, you're all grown up."

I smile. "How, how do you know my parents?"

Usnavi chuckles. "They lived a block down for seven years. My wife Vanessa and I would always have dinner with them. They're good people, how they doing?"

I chuckle. "Oof. We got some shit going on."

Usnavi looks at me with some concern, waving his hand at Eaker and Sonny, telling them to leave us be. Eaker and Sonny get the message and quickly go to the counter to begin talking. Usnavi, who is barely taller than me, rubs the back of his neck. "What's going on?"

I shrug. "Their marriage is just a little strained, which is why I'm out right now. They've been fighting a lot, arguing, the usual, and shit don't look that much better. I dunno, it'll probably be fine, they just don't know how to be mature when they argue."

"How long have they been fighting?" Usnavi continues.

"Since early September," I mumble, then I shrug and put on a smile. "They're gonna be fine though. They always are. Eaker told me on the train that you have the best coffee north of fourteenth street, is it true?"

Usnavi pauses for a second, before replying. "It is. Come on, how do you like it? Are you like your dad or your pop? Black or half cream?"

"Uh, what type of roast is it?" I ask as I follow Usnavi back over to the counter. Eaker lifts me up and sets me on the counter while Usnavi pulls out a to-go cup.

"Medium," Usnavi answers.

"Black, then," I decide, smiling.

He nods beginning to fill up the cup with coffee. I smile, playing with Eakers blonde hair, smiling as he gently leans in and kisses my cheek. Sonny loudly clears his throat and Eaker looks over, confused.

"Yeah?" Eaker says calmly.

"The kid is sixteen, dude," Sonny states. "I think you should be a bit more careful. You ain't been doing anything with him, right? Because that would be messed up, man."

"Yeah, and I'm close to his parents," Usnavi states. "You oughta be a bit more careful, you're gonna get yourself in trouble, George. Besides, though you are my friend, Alex and John are family. If I think their kids in danger, then I'm not gonna keep it from them."

"He is responsible, don't worry," I stick out. "He doesn't let me hang with him alone at his house, he don't let me be too bad. He also dropped me off at school."

"Good job, George," Usnavi cheers.

I chuckle as my coffee is handed to me. "It's weird to hear people call you by your first name, Eaker. It's funny, I've been calling you Eaker for so long that I forgot that it wasn't your actual name."

"Try the coffee you fool," Eaker laughs.

I take a sip and close my eyes, sighing. "This tastes wonderful. Definitely some of the best coffee I've had in a while. My dad's coffee isn't even as good as this, and you know what a coffee addict he is."

Usnavi chuckles. "I take pride in knowing that. What brings you two around?"

Eaker shrugs, leaning over the counter. "Had some time to kill. Speaking of time to kill, we might have run out, but I just thought I'd say hi. You know I'll be up on Sunday to give you guys your order, so I'll see y'all then. Pip, I do believe if we wanna get back in time we should head out now."

I hop down from the counter and pull out my wallet to pay for the drink. "How much?"

"For a Hamilton? It's free. Besides, your father practically paid my mortgage off with how much coffee he bought, so it's the least I can do," Usnavi smiles. "Tell your parents to give me a call or something."

I nod. "Will do."

Eaker and I walk out of the Stop 'N Shop and head back to the subway, me sipping my coffee. Eaker keeps his hand in mine, making sure he doesn't lose me. He looks out of place, even more than me. Sure, I'm a skinny goth kid, but I'm of Hispanic heritage, Eaker is just white and tall. We make it to the subway and sit down, me sighing a bit as the slight aching in my knees stops. They hurt sometimes.

TW: Some unwanted touching

Eaker begins to rub the space between my legs as he sits down, smirking as I squirm while sipping my coffee. The car isn't crowded, and no one is noticing what he's doing, but it makes me uncomfortable anyway. Something about what Sonny said irked me a bit. The fact that he, without a second thought, knew that what Eaker was doing was messed up. He said he wasn't gonna do anything with me in front of people, but here he is, touching me in public.

"Hey, uh, stop it," I mutter.

"God, Pip, I just love how fucking skinny you are," He whispers. "You're so fucking small, I just want to see your body."

I laugh nervously. "Okay, well, I don't like how I look, so please stop."

"Don't be so stingy," he teases. "Come on, no one is looking."

"I'm serious, stop it, you're making me uncomfortable," I snap.

Eaker holds up his hands. "Fine, fine, whatever."

We get back to lower Manhattan, ending up at the junkyard, smoking pot with Gov and El after picking up my prescription. I'm leaning against a box, inhaling and exhaling smoke from my lungs, staring off into space while Eaker and Gov talk. I feel too tired to socialize really, so when Eaker offers to take me back to his place and eat dinner with him and William, I just shake my head and tell him I'm getting a ride later from a friend.

"You good, kid?" Gov asks me when Eaker is out of earshot. "You look a little, blah."

I chuckle bitterly. "One of those days."

"I got pills for that," El pipes up. "I got, uh, I got some oxy, and some Vicodin, and some, some Xanax. I got some vodka too, oh and muscle relaxers. I think that's what you wanna take. We're gonna give you four muscle relaxers and then, just, just drink my flask." El hands me some white pills and a metal flask. "Here you go."

"Should I pay you?" I ask slowly.

He shakes his head. "Nah, because Eaker told me Rufus fucked you over a bit, so it's all free. Just, be careful, alright? Sleep on your side."

I smile and take the pills, washing them down with some vodka. "Thanks."

I finish off the flask and hand it back to El. It doesn't take too long for the feeling to set in, and when it does, my whole mood changes. I go from brooding and sad to happy and touchy. El and Gov sat me between them, so now I'm cuddled up to both of them, smiling as we watch funny cat videos on Gov's phone.

"You guys are so wonderful," I smile, swaying a bit.

"Hey, Pip, can I tell you a secret?" El whispers, loud enough through so Gov can hear.

I nod. "Yes."

"I know how old you really are. I just think you should get out of here before shit gets too bad," El tells me, gently planting a kiss to my head.

I giggle. "You're funny. I like it here."

Time goes by, and I don't come down from my high. In fact, I get even higher. I smoke more pot, get a few more pills, drink a bit more until I'm barely able to walk. The sun sets over the Manhattan skyline. I'm glad it's Friday because there's no way in hell I would want to go to school tomorrow. Gov leaves around seven at night, kissing El on the cheek and telling me to behave. El explained that he doesn't really have anywhere he wants to go tonight, so he'll just spend his night here.

"Tell me a bit about yourself," El mumbles as we lie on the hood of an old car, staring at the sky. "I don't know much about you."

I shrug. "Ain't much to know."

"You got a real man?" He asks.

I chuckle. "No. Not really interested in getting one either. What about you? You and Gov look closer than most, and I was pretty high on Halloween, but not before I saw you two basically fucking on the dance floor."

El hits my shoulder lightly, laughing. "No, we uh, we aren't a thing. I wouldn't mind, but he's got a girl. She's, she's a person who is girlfriend material I guess. She's just kinda a bitch. I've known Gov for a long ass time, he deserves a lot better than her. It's not like she's doing a specific thing that makes her bad, they just, they don't mix."

I sigh. "I get that. Not really actually. I don't get romance. I don't see the appeal."

"You ever think you're aromantic?" El mumbles.

"I don't even know what that is," I laugh.

El leans over and kisses the side of my head. "You're real cute, Pip. You gotta tell me something though, something real important."

"What's that?" I ask, smiling a bit and rolling onto my side.

"You and Eaker, you ever been together on a sexual level?" He whispers.

"He fucked me, silly, on Halloween," I giggle.

"And you're sixteen," El sighs, gently brushing some of my hair out of my face. "God, Pip, you just, you don't even know what is going on right now, do you?"

I shake my head. "You're being vague and silly."

"I can't, I can't be friends with Eaker knowing he did this," El mumbles, biting his lip.

"What did he do?" I ask quietly, wondering what on earth El is talking about.

TW: Talk of rape

"Phillip, he, God, he, he raped you. You can't, this isn't, you're a child," El states, sitting up. "He's not even close to eighteen anymore. You're what, a junior in high school? You aren't even seventeen. He turns twenty-two in three weeks. You are, you're just a kid, and yeah, whatever, it's your thing to sleep around and no judgment there, but this isn't about you sleeping around, this about the fact that a grown ass adult took advantage of you."

"He didn't, that's not, that's not what happened," I say quickly.

El runs his hand over his face. "That makes it so much worse that you don't even know how bad this is. It's not your fault, Phillip. It doesn't matter that he didn't tie you up and force you to do this, it doesn't matter even if you initiated this. What matters is that a grown adult, who is four years past being eighteen, took advantage of you."

"I," I start, not knowing where to go. "I didn't, he's not, no. This isn't, you're making this up. He, he didn't rape me. He didn't hold me down or hit me or cover my mouth, he didn't rape me. He, he didn't, I just, what do you mean?"

"Phillip, he's an adult, you're a kid who's obviously not in a very good place mentally. I know you're sixteen, and so does he. It would matter if you threw yourself on me totally naked and begged, I wouldn't do anything with you. That's the difference between Eaker and me." El pauses, looking down. "I'm not a fucking pedophile."

"He's not, he's, he couldn't, a pedophile? Those, those are old men who hurt kids way younger than me, El, that's not, I don't even qualify." I look down at my hands.

"Oh honey," El whispers lightly, pulling me close to him. "You, oh God, I'm so sorry. I should've said something. I wasn't even conscious when we first met, but I should've done something. At Halloween, I should've done something. I'm so sorry this happened to you. God, I just, Phillip, you need to go home. You just, you need to get out of this place. Stay away from George, please."

"I can't go home," I mumble. "I just, not tonight. Do you have anything else on you? Please? I just, I can't fucking, I can't fucking think about this right now."

"I don't condone using drugs as coping mechanisms, so you promise this will be your only time?" El mumbles, pulling some more pills out of a bag.

"Yeah, I promise," I say, you know, like a liar.

El hands me a few pills. "Is there anywhere you can go? This place, it, it gets more dangerous at night. The heroin junkies come out, and they absolutely do not care who you are. If you ask, they'll hook you up and you don't, you don't want to get involved with that. I've seen some real good people go really downhill when they started that shit. I've lost friends, family, a boyfriend, that shit is just, you, don't do it."

"I have a friend who can pick me up," I mumble, pulling out my phone. I quickly realize that I can't see straight, so I hand it to El. "The password is 61428. I need you to find the contact name Georges."

"Your password sounds like a birthday," El mumbles.

"It is, my friend Peter's birthday. He, he is a good friend," I mutter.

A few seconds of silence go by, and then El begins speaking into my phone. "Hey, Georges right? You don't know me, but my name's El. I'm here with Phillip, and he is very tired and needs a ride somewhere that's not home. I'm sure since you're his friend, you'll know a place to take him." He pauses. "Yeah, we're over at D & D Junkyard, lower Manhattan, though I'm sure you know where that is." A few more seconds of silence. "Ten minutes? Sounds good. I'll be waiting with Phillip right outside, you can't miss us. Thanks, Georges."

"Thanks for calling him," I mumble.

El nods. "Now, come on, we're gonna go wait on the curb for your friend."

I nod and stand up, leaning against him as we make our way to the curb. "Where are you gonna go? You said it yourself, this place gets dangerous."

El shrugs. "I got a van made up towards the back."

"Are you in college or...?" I trail off.

"I work at a high scale tech company. I just recently got the job though, so I gotta wait until the salary kicks in to get a place. I got my eyes on an apartment though, a little studio on west central park. Just like, a few more weeks, then I get my first paycheck and I can make an offer." El sighs. "For now, though, my old rusty van house works just fine."

"Do you like the job you have?" I question.

He nods. "Yeah. My whole life I've loved technology. Not so much, like, using it, because it gives me migraines, but the design, the fashion, the science. It's all so mind-blowing. What about you? You have any plans?"

"I wanna go to Amsterdam for college, then become a writer and photographer for a magazine, like Art Forum. My aunt, she just travels and stuff. That's what I want to do. I don't, I can't, I hate staying in one place. Though, if I were to settle down, it wouldn't be here. Oregon, Seattle maybe. Somewhere different." I sit on the sidewalk. "You know?"

El sits next to me. "No, yeah, I know. New York ain't exactly my favorite place, but one thing about this job is after a few years I could request a transfer to either their California branch or their London branch. I'd prob'ly go to California because I like the sun."

I groan. "Why is everything so fucked up right now?"

El gives me a gentle side hug. "Hey, we got two months left this year. Don't worry, kid, shits gonna fly right by. You aren't gonna be in the same place in six months, remember that. Who's the friend who's picking you up?"

"Georges," I mumble. "I've known him since I was a baby. He's my age, in high school with me. He's one of my best friends, though not really. I tell more to some of my other friends, but he still is, he's still my best friend. You know? He's just kind of a prick."

El nods, laughing. "Yeah, I get that. You know, you're a real good person, Phillip. Like, you're really good. You, you shouldn't hang around here. You should be, be at home, with your family, hanging out with them."

I groan. "My house is a hell hole right now. My dad cheated on my pop, all they do is fight. I just, I don't want to be there anymore. Shit has gotten almost physically violent, and the way they yell, god, it's basically domestic violence. I don't, fuck, I'd rather take my chance with the heroin addicts than go home right now. Also, my dad is fucking pissed at me."

"Why?" El urges.

"You know how Rufus and I hooked up? And before you get mad at him, he didn't know I was this young, so it's not his fault," I inform El.

He nods.

"I got fucking chlamydia from him," I laugh. "Anyway, I went to Planned Parenthood, got some meds, and I guess my dad got a notification or something that I got meds, which I've never needed before, and I guess my dad got an email from our insurance or whatever and called me up just to yell at me."

"Yikes," El mutters.

Georges' car pulls up and I stand, popping my back. "Thanks, El. It was nice talking to you. If you ever need a meal or a place to stay or something, just hit me up. Goodnight."

"Night," El laughs.

I get into Georges' car and smile, looking over at my friend. "Hey, lovely."

"Are you good?" Georges asks me.

I nod. "Mmhm, just tired, didn't want to go home. Asked my friend to call you since I'm tired as hell."

"Is he your new fuck buddy?" Georges mumbles as he begins driving.

I shake my head. "Nah, he's got his eyes on someone else, and he's like, an adult. He was real nice though. Making sure I'm okay and shit."

"That's good," Georges says sincerely.

I get hit with a wave of dizziness and realize that the pills I took earlier are setting in. It takes only a few more minutes of silence for all my inhibitions to go straight out the window. I look over at Georges, sighing heavily. I stare at his soft light brown skin, his fluffy curly hair, the bit of hair on his upper lip. He looks so fucking gorgeous in this light. The Manhattan city light makes him look so pretty. I want to kiss him.

"Pull over," I request.

He instantly pulls over. "Are you okay? Please don't throw up in my car."

I giggle, pushing myself into the backseat. "Come here, silly."

"Oh boy," Georges chuckles as he climbs into the backseat next to me. "What are you doing this time, mister Phillip Hamilton?"

I answer by kissing him, pulling him on top of me and grabbing his ass. He moans in surprise but kisses back, smiling almost as his hands reach down to my hips, gripping them gently. I squeal and giggle as he bites my lip, wrapping my legs around his waist. I move my hands down and begin to slip off his pants, moaning as he grinds against me. His hands tug at my shirt until he sits up and slips off his jeans, then my shirt. I'm quick to get his off, and he's almost merciless as he takes off my jeans. He leans back in for a kiss, his chest pressing against mine. I curl a small tuft of his chest hair in my fingers and tug on it a bit, bringing a small sound from his throat.

"Mm, Georges," I mumble as he begins to kiss down my neck. His hand slips into my boxers and he begins gently touching me, bringing gasps from my chest.

"You're so, fuck, oh fuck, Georges," I mumble, pulling his hair.

"God, Phillip, you're beautiful," Georges whispers, caressing my face gently.

I kiss him, letting him stick his tongue in my mouth since there's no way I'm gonna win that fight. Georges grabs my hips and roughly grinds into me, causing me to exhale quickly, tugging his hair and biting down on his shoulder.

"Oh, God, Pip, please," Georges groans.

'He raped you.' Els' words flash through my brain and I begin to think about Eaker. He, he started this. He was the one who pulled me into his lap while I was naked, he was the one who, who called me pretty, placed his hand between my thighs. I did lead him on though, I teased him. Then he fucked me. We had sex. I said yes though, I gave consent. El is right though, Eaker is five years older than me, not even close to eighteen. Did he take advantage of me? He doesn't, he's not that type of person. Then again, the guy cooks meth in his free time, what kind of person is he really? He couldn't have raped me though, and besides, I'm too old and he's too young for this to count as pedophilia. I think. Was it rape? Legally, yes. It was. El said that Eaker took advantage of me though. I don't, he wouldn't, I can't do this.

"Georges, Georges stop," I say quickly.

Georges quickly sits up, holding up his hands. "Are you okay?"

I sit up and shake my head. "I, no, I can't, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, I'm sorry. We can just, I don't know, I'm sorry." My voice cracks as my eyes fill with tears. "It's just, I've had a rough night and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

"Hey, hey," Georges whispers, scooping me up in his arms. "No, shh, it's okay. Don't cry, honey. It's okay. It's okay. Take a deep breath. Come on, let's go back to my place and you can get some grub in you. I'll make you tea, baby."

I nod and we begin to get dressed. It's not awkward, it's just quiet. When we climb back in the front, Georges gently holds my hand as he drives. Tears still slide down my cheeks, but I wipe them away and stay quiet until we pull into Georges' driveway. When we get out, Georges instantly pulls me into his arms and walks me inside, bringing me to the kitchen and setting me down on the counter.

"Georges, what are you doing... Phillip?" Lafayette mumbles tiredly, walking into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

"Hey, he's had a rough night. I'm making him some food and tea," Georges explains. "A vegan pita thing. You know, something he likes."

"Phillip, have you been crying? You look..." Lafayette steps closer then gasps. "You're high. You're so high. What are you high on?"

"He's just been crying," Georges sticks out. "That's why his eyes are red."

Lafayette shakes his head, taking my face in his hands. "His pupils. They're pinpoint. Pip, what did you take?"

"A lot," I chuckle, leaning into Lafayette's hand. "I'm so, so high."

"Jesus, why?" Lafayette mumbles.

"I am very, very, very sad," I announce, jumping off the counter. "So very sad! I am, I am depression! My dad is very mad at me, and, and I did not fuck your son!"

"Wait, you didn't fuck Georges, hold on, what is going on?" Lafayette questions.

"Phillip, what are you doing?" Georges snaps.

"I cannot fuck you, Georges, not for the next two weeks, because I..." I pause, making sure I have their attention. "Have chlamydia."

"No you don't, Phillip," Georges says, shaking his head.

I pull out my antibiotics from my pocket. "But I do! I got it from, from Rufus, on Halloween. Which is why you're always supposed to use condoms, which I usually do! The one time I don't I, I, I get chlamydia!"

"Chlamydia, what?" Herc mumbles walking into the room. "What is Phillip doing here?"

"I have chlamydia, I am high, and I did not fuck your son!" I announce. "I am friends with a guy who can smoke six blunts at once! Also, I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

"Alright, honey, let's go to the trash can," Lafayette states, pulling me towards their trash can. I throw up stomach acid, vodka, and some dissolved pills. Hercules holds me up while Lafayette strokes my hair and rubs my back.

"He hasn't eaten in, god, Phillip, have you eaten today?" Hercules asks.

I shake my head. "No time, no time. I just, I had to, I had to go to places. My stomach hurts. It hurts."

"Okay, Georges, go get me three charcoal pills," Lafayette commands. "Pip, you're gonna have to tell us what you took."

I groan. "I took, I took Xanax, and muscle relaxers, and, and, vi... vicodin. And I drank. I drank so much. It was vodka."

"He sounds like he's overdosing a little bit," Lafayette mumbles. Georges comes back with a pill bottle in his hands. Lafayette takes it and knocks three into his hand. "Okay, Pip, these are gonna make you feel a lot better. Herc, get me some water."

"How do you know how to do this?" Georges asks.

"I used to be an opioid and coke addict with Thomas, and I was a sex worker in Europe, I've dealt with plenty of situations like this," Lafayette states. "Pip, say ah."

I open my mouth and Lafayette puts the pills in there, then hands me water. I drink it and lean forward, resting my head against Lafayette. "I feel, I feel bad. I want to go home but I can't. I can't go home." My voice breaks into a sob and Lafayette hugs me. "I want to go home but my dad yelled at me and he's so so mad because I got the medication I needed on our insurance, but my pop gave me the insurance information for that reason! I just, I want to go home."

"Hey, hey, Pip, we're gonna have you spend the night here, and then we're gonna take you home in the morning. We have to tell your parents what's going on, though," Lafayette mumbles, running his fingers through my hair.

"No," I say, panicking. "No, they'll, they'll fight more. They can't, they can't know. This was just a one-time thing, I promise."

Lafayette bites his lip. "Phillip, we have to tell them."

"No, please don't, please, please it'll be so much worse, I can't, I can't do that. Please don't, please, I won't do it again, I promise," I beg.

Lafayette pulls me into his arms. "We're going to talk more about this tomorrow. Nothing is decided, so calm down. It's okay. Deep breaths. Come on, Pip, we're gonna watch a movie, make sure you sleep well, okay?"

I nod, taking a deep breath. "Okay."

"I'll take him up and get some pajamas on him," Georges offers.

Lafayette nods. "Okay. Be careful, and if he passes out or starts vomiting or foaming at the mouth, you get me immediately. Promettre?"

Georges nods. "Promettre, papa." He gently takes my hand and begins to lead me upstairs. "Jesus, Pip, what are you doing to yourself?"

"My tummy hurts," I complain as we enter his room. "I feel like trash."

"How about we get you into pajamas and I heat up a warm rice sock for you, okay? We'll make tea, and you can sit and relax and watch a movie with us. How does that sound, lovely?" Georges whispers to me gently, sitting me down on his bed.

I nod and watch as he gets me some clothes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Georges asks.

"For, for, for causing a big old mess. I just, I should've just let you sleep," I mumble.

Georges shakes his head. "Nah, it's okay, Pip. I'm glad you're safe."

He peels off my shirt and slips a maroon long sleeve shirt over my head. Next, he takes off my skinny jeans and puts on a pair of black sweatpants that are too big for me. I can't blame him though since he is a whole head taller than me.

"Come on, let's go watch a movie," he mumbles. I lean against him on the way down and am instantly greeted with a cup of tea and a water bottle. The four of us sit on the couch and Lafayette turns on an old noir film that will be easy to fall asleep to. Georges gets me a warm rice sock, Hercules wraps me in a blanket, and Lafayette ties my hair up in a loose bun. Exhausted, I lean against Georges and sip my tea. Eventually, I do fall asleep, happy to be where I am.

 

"Pip, it's time to wake up," Lafayette whispers.

I sit up and groan loudly as pain rips through my head. I instantly put my hands over my head and bury my face in a pillow. "Ow."

"Come on, I got some Alka seltzer and aspirin," Lafayette mumbles, gently rubbing my back. I crack open my eyes to see that the curtains have been shut and the only light is a dim lamp, which makes me assume hangovers were not uncommon to Laf and Herc.

"Thank you," I groan, taking the aspirin with the Alka Seltzer.

"You wanna tell me what happened last night?" He asks gently.

I shake my head a bit, trying to knock off the headache. "I was sad, and I got pills and alcohol, and a lot of weed. I felt so, god I felt so sad."

Lafayette gently kisses my forehead. "You can't do that, Phillip. You have such a beautiful brain, and trust me, opioids are going to ruin it."

I nod. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did all this. I didn't mean to-"

Lafayette cuts me off. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. Your clothes are in Georges' room. I'm gonna drive you home. Just, you can't do that stuff, Phillip. It's gonna end badly. You're like a second son to me, so you promise you won't?"

I nod, like a liar. "I promise."

Lafayette nods. "Okay."

I get up and change back into my regular clothes, kissing a sleeping Georges on the forehead. I then walk back downstairs, taking my antibiotic and walking to the car with Lafayette. My head is pounding and I really just want to go back to sleep, but I also want to be home, so I'm glad Laf woke me up.

"Hey," Lafayette mumbles as he pulls into my driveway. "Will you be okay?"

I nod. "I'm gonna be fine. I'll just go up to my room. My pop is still asleep and my dad is probably working, so I can just go upstairs and pass out again. Thank you, for everything."

"Okay, if your chest starts hurting you should tell your parents," he informs me. "Please stay safe, alright Pip?"

I nod, getting out of the car. "Alright. See you soon."

I walk into the house and enter the kitchen, sighing as I make my way to the fridge to get a snack. I'm craving some hummus, falafel, spinach, and olives on pita. It sounds so mouth-watering, especially since I haven't really eaten anything in a while. I really gotta start setting reminders on my phone to eat, because I haven't been so good about that. I can't sleep on my side anymore because my knees rub together and leave bruises.

"Phillip Hamilton," a voice says.

I turn around and see my dad standing there. "Mm, good morning."

"Just where the hell have you been?" My dad snaps.

"Lafayette's," I reply.

"So you just thought it would be okay to not come home last night?" He asks, walking closer to me. For someone who's shorter than me, he can sure look scary when he's mad.

I laugh, despite the fact that my hands are starting to shake a bit. "Alright, didn't get the memo that I was actually being parented again."

"You have always been parented, don't pull this rebel bullshit," my dad argues.

I groan loudly. "No, actually, I haven't. I haven't had you guys worry about where I am in weeks. I've been taking care of myself. I spent the night at Lafayette's last night, and if you want to call and confirm, then you can."

"This isn't about that, though. Why the fuck are you using our insurance to get medication?" My dad throws his hands up.

"Isn't that what insurance is for?" I ask slowly, creasing my eyebrows.

My dad huffs. "Not without our permission it isn't. What do you even need medication for? You're perfectly healthy!"

I laugh at that, snorting a bit. "I told you, I got a bit sick at a party and I just needed some antibiotics."

"Why the hell are you yelling, Alex?" My pop asks.

"He used our insurance without asking and won't tell us what for!" My dad exclaims.

My pop moves closer to me. "Yeah, uh, that's why I gave him our insurance information. He makes trips to planned parenthood, and I guess he needed something this time. Get off his back, he did nothing wrong."

"First of all, are you seriously trusting our finances with our child?" My dad's eyes widen in disbelief as he stares at pop and me.

My pop nods. "What's he gonna do? Make a doctors appointment? Alex, he's taking care of himself. You never went to doctors as a kid, and I don't want Pip to be the same. If he's worried about something and doesn't want to tell us, then I don't think he should have to."

"What if he's fucking dying? Huh? You just think he should keep that from us?" My dad goes on. "We're his parents!"

"He's not gonna keep that from us," my pop laughs. "If Phillip is dying and our insurance started paying for, like, chemotherapy or something, I would know. I monitor it, and I know he makes bi-monthly visits to planned parenthood, and I know he got antibiotics. He's fine."

"He said he got fucking sick at a party, you know what that probably means?" My dad informs my pop, looking mad.

I groan loudly, sick of the yelling. "I got chlamydia and I went to the doctor for it, are you happy? You got an answer. There you go. You can stop yelling."

"You got what? How?" My dad exclaims.

"I had sex," I say slowly.

"You are sixteen, why are you having sex?" My dad continues.

"You were married, why did you fuck someone else?" I reply quickly.

The room falls into a quick silence. My dad looks mad, my pop has his eyebrows raised, looking more shocked than anything. I stand there, my heartbeat in my ears, my head pounding, and my stomach aching for food. My pop gently places his hand on my shoulder, silent requesting me to calm down. I untense a bit since I know he's still on my side.

"Alex," my pop says slowly, "I think you need to go for a walk and calm down. You're getting angry over nothing. There is no reason to be yelling at Phillip. He is being responsible."

"Responsible?" My dad laughs. "He's not being responsible, he's sleeping around like some kind of whore."

I lunge at my dad. I'm quick but my pop is quicker. He grabs my waist and pulls me back instantly. I can't believe my dad just called me a whore. Is he serious? Does he want to talk about whoring around? Does he want to have that conversation? You know what, fine. Let's have that conversation. Let's have a nice good old debate about whoring around.

"It's rich you're calling me a whore," I spit. "I didn't cheat on my husband. I didn't betray my family. I didn't fuck a man who I knew was being abused. I didn't leave him in that marriage to get beat while I went back to my husband and son like everything was perfect. I didn't lie, I didn't cheat, I didn't hurt anyone. No, that was all you. Do you want to talk about whoring? Huh? Is that what we're talking about? I don't break the hearts of people who genuinely love me for no other reason than my own gluttony! You did this! You hurt your husband! You hurt your child! I don't want to hear shit about what I do in my free time when in all honesty, you should've been kicked out by now! You shouldn't be married to pop! You don't deserve him, you don't deserve us! You don't deserve to be a part of this fucking family!"

"Phillip, hey," my pop whispers quietly.

"No!" I break away from his arms. "Can't you see that, that he's just, he's not good enough anymore! He, god, he just, you don't deserve this!." I sigh loudly. "No, you know what? This is bullshit. Bullshit. I'm done. I'm hungover as shit and I really just want to sleep, so that's what I'm gonna do."

I storm out of the kitchen and upstairs, getting to my room quickly. I lie down on my bed and instantly start crying. My dad just called me a whore. Does he know how much that hurts? Does he know how much it hurts to know that that's what your family thinks of you? He talks about how his mother was called a whore all the time and he defended her. What about me? Why can't I have someone who will defend me? Why can't my dad just, just, why can't he just love me? What did I do wrong?

A few minutes go by, and then I hear a knock on my door frame. I look up to see my pop standing there, looking sad. "Hi."

"Hey, Pip," he mumbles lightly. "Can I come in?"

I nod and sit up, wiping my cheek. "Yeah."

"He shouldn't have said that," my pop states, sitting next to me and hugging me. "It was so so mean, and he had no right to call you that, especially with the points you made. I'm proud of you for taking responsibility for your health, and I'm sorry if that was embarrassing. I don't think you're a whore, and I don't think you did anything wrong. I do hope this teaches you to only have protected sex unless you really know the person, but I'm glad you took responsibility and got the medication you needed to keep yourself healthy."

"I'm sorry for saying those things," I mumble.

"Don't be," my pop replies instantly. "He needed to hear it. He needed to be reminded that no matter what, he's still the man who did all those things. He is the pure definition of hypocrisy. You, you are wonderful, Phillip Hamilton. I am so proud to have you as my son. You are the last good man left in this world, and I'm so thankful I have the honor of being your father. I love you so much, and I agree with absolutely nothing your dad said."

I groan, leaning against my pop. "Men are stupid."

"They are," he agrees.

"I'm gonna join a pagan cult in the slums of France. Love is dumb." I chuckle.

My pop laughs and hugs me closer. "Love is dumb, Phillip. Avoid it. Hey, I'm gonna let you sleep now, and how about later we go get some pizza and see a movie, maybe do a little therapy shopping, yeah?"

I nod, smiling. "Yeah."


	24. There have been better Thanksgivings at the Hamilton household

/Alex/

I've usually always liked Thanksgiving. It's reminded me of good and happy times. John, Pip and I would spend it just the three of us. We spend all of our other holidays with our friends, it just seems fit to keep thanksgiving to ourselves. John would cook with Phillip, I would set the table and help out however I could. We'd watch the parade in just our pajamas, drink orange juice and watch the dog show, then all get up together around midnight and greet each other in the kitchen, snacking on leftovers. It was nice. It was family.

Not this Thanksgiving though. It's noon, Thursday, and I have officially missed the parade and the dog show. Instead, I am at work, hunched over my desk, looking over a different case. My eyes hurt and a migraine seems to be making its way into my skull, but I do my best to ignore it, dragging my finger along the paper so I can read.

Finally, I decide it's time to go get some coffee. There aren't a lot of people working today, including Washington. People have the option to work on Thanksgiving, but usually don't. I never have, but this year, I'm too tired to handle going home right now.

Three weeks ago I called my son a whore and, well, things have improved only a little since then. I didn't mean to, honestly. I was mad. That's no excuse though. I had had a rough day in the office and I took it out on Phillip. I don't even see why I got mad at him in the first place. I mean, it's not like he actually did anything wrong. I apologized to him the day after it happened, but I can tell he's very hurt. He's slowly healing, and I can respect that he needs space, so that's what I'll give to him, just like I'm giving to John.

"Hey, Hamilton," a voice says. I turn to see a co-worker, Robert Livingston, entering the kitchen while I get some coffee.

"Hey, Livingston, you don't usually work on Thanksgiving," I mutter.

"Well, this is year two of my divorce, and the wife has our daughters for this Thanksgiving, so I really have no need to do anything if it's just gonna be me," he chuckles. "What about you?"

"Do I really need to explain why I'm working right now?" I deadpan, giving him a look.

Robert laughs and gets himself a cup of coffee. "No, I guess not. How's that going, anyway? Shit looking up? Or..."

I shrug. "Shit's looking the same, so nothing is changing, but it's still bad. It's my own fault, I guess, but I hope something shifts eventually."

Robert chuckles. "My wife, sorry, my ex-wife was the one who cheated on me. I didn't ask for the divorce though. She's the one who did, the moment I found out, actually."

I grimace. "Shit. Well, I should probably get back to work. It was nice talking to you, Rob, good luck."

Robert nods. "You too."

I make my way back to my office and sit down, sipping my coffee and staring at some papers. I know James Monroe is wandering around here somewhere, but I haven't had the misfortune of bumping into him yet. I know it'll come eventually, and he'll make some snide comment about how I'm not with my family, and I'll make some snide comment about how he doesn't even have one, and then he'll leave.

Washington knew I was at work the moment I clocked in. He called me and asked me why on earth I was spending my holiday in the office. I kindly explained to him that I thought it would be best if my family had a little space from me right now. To that, he simply said he understood, then said goodbye. I do feel a little lonely, knowing that probably no one is missing me right now, but that's okay. I can bury my head in my work, help other people.

"Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now," A sweet voice sings. "Look around, look around."

I whip my head up. "Eliza."

"My Alexander," she says sweetly, smiling at me from my office doorway. "What on earth are you doing here when my wife and I have been missing you dearly in a Manhattan penthouse just up a bit?"

I stand up and rush to Eliza, taking her in my arms. Since she moved upstate, I don't see her very often, but every time I do, I feel like I'm being reunited with family. I've always loved Eliza very much. I feel as if, in another life, we loved each other even more. Eliza has always been sweet to me. On the night before my wedding, I was basically panicking due to stress, and she spent her whole night with me, gently singing and taking my mind off everything. We watched a movie, talked, did art, gushed about our lovers. I can easily say she is one of my best friends, right next to Lafayette and John. Now though, she might be my only best friend.

"I missed you so much," I mutter, hugging her close to me.

She hugs me back just as tight. "I was worried about you, Hamilton. I heard something about John trying to hit you, and then Phillip was in a fight, I didn't know if you were okay or not. If you were managing at least."

I groan. "Everything is so fucked over right now, Liz."

"Come on, we're going back to my place," she commands, pulling away and holding me at arm's length so she can get a good look at me.

"I really do have to work on these cases and-"

She cuts me off. "Alexander."

"Okay, okay," I chuckle. "Let me pack up." I move and begin shoving papers and what not back into my briefcase. "I'm sorry I never got around to rescheduling our date. Times have been hectic and I'm really just trying to balance work, my kid, my marital issues, and my John issues without falling apart."

"Why are your marital issues and your John issues separated? What draws a line from marital to just John?" Eliza asks curiously.

"I would usually hate it when someone goes all psychiatrist on me, but I think I may just need it," I joke. "No, uh, marital issues is when it involves both John and me, and occasionally Phillip, but that's for another explanation. No, John issues are him relapsing on alcohol, almost hitting me, doing John-centric things, especially when he was very drunk and brought that other dude home."

"Another dude... Hold on, did John cheat on you? Are we just going around in circles?" Eliza says exasperatedly as we walk out of the building.

"No, he did not sleep with someone else, but it's not like I was the one who initiated the cheating," I point out. "I saw plenty of photos of John making out and grinding on other people at college parties. I didn't say shit though, I love him, why would I want to rock the boat?"

"You knew?" Eliza gasps.

I roll my eyes. "Of course I knew. I have a picture of Laf and Herc from college, and I literally had to Crop out John on the couch with some twink under him. Frankly, I'm surprised I haven't used it against him, but I feel like one affair is enough."

Eliza and I get into her car since I just took a subway here today. Eliza is driving, looking over at me curiously. "Did you feel satisfaction when you were sleeping with the other guy, knowing that you were finally getting back at John for what he did? I mean, there's no way seeing that and knowing that didn't hurt you. Also, all your friends must have known, aren't you mad that they didn't tell you? I only found out what John did recently while talking to Pegs, but Laf and Herc must have known."

I shrug. "It was, it was a little satisfying to get back at John. I do regret it, and if I had the chance to do it again, I wouldn't, but, I don't know, it just felt good to finally not let myself get walked on. To finally know that after all the fucking heartbreak I went through in college, all the times I curled up on the shower floor and cried, all the times I let John hold me and comfort me, though he was the one that caused my sadness, it was all finally squared away. John and I are finally even." I take a deep breath. "Also, everyone told me. Herc, Laf, Thomas, James, Angelica, everyone. People I barely knew told me. I never told John I knew, but trust me, I could take the man down faster than you can say 'evidence,' Eliza."

"What do you mean?" She asks.

I chuckle. "I have a whole file on my computer literally dedicated to every picture of John with someone who isn't me. Some days I just want to send them all to him in one passive email. I still get mad about it. Even when, even before the pamphlet. I would just, I would get so mad at him Eliza. Do you know how he treated me on college? He was wonderful! He would bring me coffee, kiss me, call me the love of his life, and then he would go off and sleep with or kiss or do whatever with some slutty college twink. He always accuses me of not knowing what it feels like to be cheated on but I do!" I stop for a second, hearing my voice crack. "The difference between him and I, though, he has a whole group of people who are there for him, comforting him, trying to help him. I had no one. I couldn't break down in front of Laf or Herc because they wouldn't let me hear the end of it until I left him. I couldn't leave him, Eliza. He's my best friend."

Eliza sighs. "John feels the exact way about you. Only, Laf and Herc aren't letting him hear the end of it until he leaves you, which he won't. He may be a prick, but he loves you."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're taking my side," I mumble slyly.

"I am taking your side!" Eliza yells. "John is a prick! I get it, he's hurt that you cheated on him, but he did it first! He starts the majority of the fights! When Maria cheated on me, did I act like a child? No! I didn't yell. I was hurt, of course, but I-"

"Wait," I interrupt. "Maria cheated on you?"

Eliza nods. "Once. She came clean about it. I went on a bit of a trip for a few days, spending some time alone to hash out my emotions. Then, then she and I talked about it. We sought out counseling. Look, I'm not saying you're totally innocent, because you're not, and as someone who is taking your side, I can accept that. Maria was not totally innocent, and there's still hurt and pain sometimes. You know something though? Our marriage was only strained a bit because we communicated!"

"I'm trying to talk to John but he won't let me and everyone says to give him space and I'm trying but he always initiates everything! From sex to fights, to whatever else! It's exhausting! I don't know what he wants anymore!" I rant.

"You're having sex?" Eliza gasps.

I nod. "We are."

"Wait, so you guys are fighting and fucking at the same time?" Eliza continues.

"It's so fucking confusing! He's usually the one to initiate the fight, and then two hours later he'll come crawling into my room and get me all horny! I don't know what the man wants anymore because we'll fight and then we'll fuck and then the next morning I'll try to offer a kiss or a hug or something before I leave and he acts like he didn't come into my office touching himself the night before!" I throw my hands up. "I can't give him space! It's impossible!"

"This is total bullshit!" Eliza yells as she parks in the parking lot to her apartment building. "He's playing with your god damn emotions! He is being so fucking toxic and problematic! I can't even imagine what it's doing to you!"

"I know right!" I reply as we get into the elevator. "I literally am just trying to parent my goddamn child and get through this, and he's making shit so much more complicated! If he wants to have just angry sex, then okay! If he wants to just fight, then okay! If he wants space, then okay! But he can't do all three! Jesus, sometimes I just wish he'd kick me out!"

"Your name is on the lease, babe, he can't kick you out," Eliza points out and we step off onto her floor and walk to the door of her apartment. "You could kick him out, though."

"I'm not gonna kick him out," I mumble. "I don't want to do that to him."

"Then make a fucking line in the sand or something! Tell him off!" Eliza exclaims as we enter the apartment.

"But he always turns it into some pity party about how I cheated on him!" I groan. "I can't ask him to do anything because he's like 'you caused this, you did this.' Jesus, I know I did, but I am entitled to some amount of sanity, aren't I?"

"Damn right you are!" Maria yells, coming in from the kitchen. "What are we talking about by the way?"

"John is being manipulative and rude to Alex and while what Alex didn't wasn't morally correct he needs to remember that he did it first and needs to stop playing the fucking victim when he is just as bad, if not worse than Alex!" Eliza growls.

"I think we better steer clear of alcohol because if we don't someone is going to call John," Maria chuckles. "But Eliza is right. Alex, you have not been totally innocent, and I know that. I know everything, but John has been incredibly rude, and even has snapped at Herc and Aaron for trying to defend you."

I groan. "I hate being married. Why did I ever do it? I could be a sad bachelor living in a studio apartment eating ramen out of my coffee maker, but no, I had to fall in love and have parental instincts and all that useless bullshit."

"Why don't you just take Phillip and go to California or something?" Maria suggests jokingly as we follow her back into the kitchen.

"As much as Phillip would love California, I don't think I want to go." I chuckle. "What am I saying? I'm not leaving John. New York is my home, John is my home. I can't, I'm not, I'm not going to leave him, or here."

"You're not going to leave John?" Maria says slowly.

I shake my head. "It's not my place to leave him. He says he wants to get better. When? I don't know, but, I guess I just gotta wait this out."

"Bullshit!" Maria yells. "That is complete and utter bullshit. If he needs time to figure shit out, then whatever. He can have his fucking time, but he has no right to fuck with you like this! Just because you made a mistake, doesn't mean you deserve this fucking turmoil! You are trying your best to fix things, and John is not. This is such bullcrap, you don't deserve this."

"If he doesn't act like a normal adult by now, then you're done with his games," Eliza commands, telling me what to do more than stating a fact.

"I'm done," I agree.

"Good," Eliza nods. "Now go chop his dick off."

I burst out laughing. "No! That's my only source of happiness right now!"

"Oh, how is the sex?" Maria asks. "Like, I would assume it's not that bad."

I shrug. "We've done worse. Not as good as our honeymoon, but not as bad as when Phillip was a baby. I'd give it, a solid junior year in college, you know?"

Eliza nods. "Yeah, I feel that. Except not really because I'm a lesbian and our sex is always great!" She reaches across and high fives Maria. "But damn."

"Okay, so Alex, everything is vegan because we're eco-friendly lesbians, so I guess you're going to have to deal with it," Maria explains as she begins setting food on the countertop. I feel like we're just going to eat here, so I get some plates and hand them to Eliza and Maria, smiling as I sit down with them and begin serving myself.

"For the record," I start. "Most of the people in my life are now vegan, so I have gotten used to the taste of veggie whatever."

"Are you vegan?" Eliza asks, smiling as she shoves a spoonful of potatoes in her mouth.

I laugh. "On accident, yes. Do I go out of my way to remain that way? Not at all. Just last week I was found in a McDonalds at four am, eating a double patty cheeseburger and a ten piece chicken nugget while writing about some case or another. Veganism ain't my thing."

"How is work coming?" Maria chuckles.

"I am working a case to help the man I cheated on my husband with getting out of an abusive marriage," I deadpan. "My coworkers hate me, your sister slapped me, and I am this close to punching James Monroe in the fucking mouth."

"Angie slapped you?" Eliza exclaims. "Oh, nuh-uh, I see her at Christmas and I'm gonna give her a piece of my mind. I can't believe she slapped you!"

"I was fine," I chuckle. "Washington chewed her out for it anyway."

"Oh, yeah!" Maria gasps. "What about you and G Wash? What's going on in that department? Has he disowned you as his son?"

I crease my eyebrows. "I was never his- No, he hasn't. He was mad at me at first, but both he and Burr seem to be the first ones in line when the time comes for everyone to start forgiving me or whatever."

Maria groans. "Just because they don't forgive you, doesn't give them a right to be a dick to you. Don't think we didn't hear about that whole conference room incident from Burr. You were in tears! There's only so far you can push a man."

I nod. "Preach."

The night goes on and I get a bit tipsy, then Eliza and I print out all the photos so next time John picks a fight I can just hand them all to him and leave. Then Maria does my makeup. Then we watch a horror movie. Then we discuss sex toys. The conversation doesn't get much better from there. Thankfully though, by the time I do decide to head home, which is about eleven, I'm sober enough to manage to call an Uber. I really like Uber. Ever since I've gotten money, I've always found some excuse or another to take one.

"Long night, eh?" My Uber driver, Shamar, chuckles.

I nod, smiling. "It was spent with friends. Not the worst Thanksgiving I've ever had."

"That's good. It's always important to surround yourself with the people you love," Shamar continues.

Tiredly, I hum, agreeing with him. "It is."

I get home and groggily open the door. The first thing I see breaks my heart. A plate of Thanksgiving food, untouched, sits on the table, and next to it, a sleeping Phillip. I sigh and quietly cover the plate in saran wrap and put it in the fridge, knowing I'll want it in the morning. Then, I gently shake Phillip into consciousness and tell him it's time to go to bed.

"Hey, dad?" Phillip mutters as I walk him up to his room.

"Yeah, son?" I reply gently.

"I forgive you," he whispers. "For everything."

I stop and look at him. He looks tired, even in the darkness of our house. His cheeks look a little sunken in. God, is he eating enough? Regardless of that though, I pull him into a hug. "I love you, Phillip."

"I love you too, dad," he replies quietly.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here today," I mumble as we continue to make our way to his room.

He shrugs. "Pop was in a mood, it was probably for the best."

"Well," I start. "The food looked delicious, and I'm glad we have leftovers. Did you cook it all by yourself?"

Phillip nods. "Yeah. It was a lot of work, but I got it done. All vegan."

"You are so talented," I mutter. "I'm proud to have you as my son."

Phillip chuckles as we enter his room. "Thank you."

"Go to sleep," I whisper as he lies down. "Don't stay up playing on your phone. You look tired, kid. You look like your pop during finals."

"Okay, okay," Phillip sighs. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," I smile.

"Oh, also, I recorded the parade and dog show, so maybe at one point we can all watch it like we did last year," Phillip mumbles tiredly.

"Sounds good," I reply. "I love you."

Tiredly and quietly, Phillip responds, "I love you too, dad."

I make my way downstairs and step into my office, tiredly ready to just sleep. I can see the light on in John's room, so I try to be as quiet as possible as I make my way into my office. The thing is though, being quiet means I have to be at least slightly in sync with my body and it's movements. Since I've been pumping my body full of anxiety medication and caffeine for the past decade, I'm not even close to being in sync with my body and it's movements. So, of course, as I set my briefcase on my desk, I knock off my lamp. I do catch it, but then I knock a coffee mug off my desk. It breaks, and coffee spills all over the floor.

"Fuck," I mutter, grabbing some paper towels I have in my office for this exact reason. I begin to mop it up and then I hear my door open. I sigh tiredly, almost wanting to just curl up in the glass shards and go to sleep.

"I see you're finally home. Working late?" John asks, his voice laced with undertones of venom and anger.

"I was at Liza's and Maria's," I explain quietly, throwing away a soaked paper towel and getting another one to mop of the rest of the liquid so I can pick up the pieces of the plain white mug. It had nothing special about it, it was just a mug I bought in bulk at Costco.

"Oh, yeah, sure," John scoffs.

I look up at him. "You know what? I don't want to fight right now. I'm exhausted and a little drunk, so I'm just gonna use this excuse tonight."

"What excuse?" John snaps.

I grab my briefcase and open it, then pull out the thirty or so pictures of John kissing other people. "This is just what people got pictures of, all throughout your college career. I don't want to fight tonight, so how about you can accuse me of doing whatever you want to accuse me of, and I can give you pictures of you actively cheating on me all throughout college."

"What, how did you..." John trails off, staring at the pictures.

I kiss his cheek and usher him out of my office. "Night, honey, I love you. I think we can just eat leftovers for breakfast tomorrow. Also, on Saturday, I got a meeting at noon."

"Alex," John starts, looking up at me. "Wait-"

I cut him off by closing my door. "Okay," I whisper to myself. "It's bedtime. Bedtime for this tiny hooligan."

I go and rummage through the laundry basket where I keep most of my clothes nowadays and find some sweatpants and a pair of wool socks. Then, I head to the leather couch, which now has a sheet and some blankets provided with it thanks to Phillip, and I lie down. My back aches a bit, but it doesn't take long for me to feel the effects of the wine. I know I'm probably gonna be in deep shit tomorrow, but right now, I'm really too tired to care.


	25. Chewbacca is the only good man left (well, maybe not the only one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may disappoint some of you

/Phillip/

There were probably better things to do on a day as nice as today since the cold December air wasn't as brisk and windy as it usually is. Theo is out with Franny, ice skating, Dosia and Aaron have taken a day trip up to Maine to try and ski, even William is out enjoying the weather with one of his other side-fucks. Of course, since I am depressed and tired and already cold, I am lying in my bed, bundled up in blankets with sweatpants and a hoodie on, watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas. The Jim Carey version, of course. I'm not a heathen.

I am officially invited to Washington's Christmas party. He called me up and formally asked if I would like to spend Christmas at his house, with, of course, most of the others, such as Lafayette, Herc, Thomas, James, Aaron, and more. Since I knew that Christmas at my house wasn't going to exist, I instantly said yes. He told me to come over on Christmas even with an overnight bag and then spend Christmas day there. I texted Peter and we decided that if they needed to double up on beds, we'd stay together.

Without knocking, my dad walks into my room. I'm glad I am as clothed as possible right now because it would be awfully embarrassing if my dad walked in on me wearing nothing but a condom and a hat.

"Hey, can you find somewhere to go?" He asks.

"Why?" I reply.

"Your father and I need to fight, like, really fight. Shits gonna be bad, so I want you out of the house for a bit," my dad explains.

I nod, biting my lip. "Okay, get out of my room so I can change."

He leaves and I get up. I'm hit with a quick dizzy spell, and for a second, I feel like I'm going to pass out, but then it passes and I go and change. A lot of my jeans are getting too big for me, so I end up slipping on a tight pair of faded blue jeans, a grey wife beater, a plaid unbuttoned flannel, and my thick long black trench coat. My black Doc Martens are downstairs, so I'll grab them on my way out. I throw my hair in a ponytail and grab my phone and wallet, as well as some eyeliner and chapstick, just in case I'm out for a while, then I head downstairs. My dad and pop are giving each other a death glare in the kitchen, obviously biting their tongues. I grab my pine green scarf and grey beanie off the hooks, then slip on my black boots.

"Bye dad, bye pop, love you both, try not to break anything, I'll be back tomorrow," I mutter, stepping out the door. The moment it closes, I can hear their yelling. I cringe and walk up the steps to the sidewalk. The kitchen is half a floor below the sidewalk while our living room is high enough to where we need to climb the stoop to get in from the outside. I love brownstone houses for that reason. They're so pretty. I don't want to live in one forever though. I wouldn't mind a nice little studio apartment on the Oregon or California coast, just one for when I have some down time after my life of doing what Peggy is doing.

I walk down the street, staring at the sidewalk. I make my way down the street until I make it to the subway station. I duck under the turnstile and head into the platform area, waiting for a train to Rockefeller center. I know it's really touristy to go to a place like that, especially during Christmas time, but I've always thought it was really magical, and I need a little magic right now. That, and there's a little stand that sells a killer vegan cinnamon hot cocoa, and the most amazing latkes, a Jewish food.

I get on the train and grab the pole, due to the fact that there are no open seats. I place my wallet in the same pocket as my phone and hold onto both of them tightly. I have been pickpocketed once. I lost twenty dollars cash and a tube of Carmex chapstick. Ever since then, I've been much more careful. I don't want anything to be stolen from me, especially today since I'm all alone. I really don't want to lose my money.

When we arrive at my stop, I get off and quickly walk up, smiling at the tree. I was the only one who watched the lighting in the living room. My pop was out with Lafayette, my dad was up in his office, so I was on the couch, drinking cider and eating popcorn, singing along with the Christmas music. Usually, we would all do that together, but this year has really fucked over any family traditions we had.

"Hello, how can I... Phillip?"

I look at the girl working the little stand and realize it's Harriet from Halloween. "Oh! Hey! Girl, how you been? It's been, like, a month and a half since I saw you!"

She laughs, tilting her head back. "I've been good, working through college. How about you? How are your classes going? Are you in Columbia, Julliard, or Prat? Ooh, or are you in a different one?"

I bite my lip, looking down, rubbing the back of my neck. "I, uh, I'm actually not in college. At all. For anything."

"Oh, you taking a gap year?" She asks.

I chuckle nervously. "I'm a high school student."

She stops. "Wait, I thought, I thought you were nineteen. Did you get held back?"

My hand rubs the nape of my neck. "Funny thing about that. I maybe, kinda, sort of, maybe, sort of lied so not to get Eaker in trouble."

Her entire face drops. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," I mumble.

"Speak again?" She requests calmly.

I look up. "Look, I just, Eaker told me not to tell anyone and he said he'd get in trouble if I do and I don't want to be the reason Eaker gets in trouble and I just-"

Harriet holds up her hand to stop me. "Stop. Enough. I don't need to hear any more." She leans forward and takes my hand gently. "You need to stay away from Eaker. He's always been sketchy, and this isn't the first time he's brought someone around who looks too young. He had a girl about a year back who looked about fourteen. You, you barely look sixteen. You need to get as far away from Eaker as you can. I'll, I'll, I don't know what I'll do. Just, get away from him." She sighs. "Respectively, Phillip, I can't be friends with you or associate with you. I can't, I, I'm sorry that, I'm just, I'm sorry for Halloween."

I shake my head. "It's not your fault. You didn't know. Eaker knew and he had me lie, it's not your fault, Harriet."

She sighs. "We can't be friends right now. Maybe when you actually hit twenty, but you're just, you're too young. At this point in time, and for the next few years, all I am to you is the girl who works this stand during Christmas, okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

Harriet leans back, putting on a fake smile. "Hello, what can I get for you today?"

"Could I have a sixteen-ounce vegan cinnamon hot chocolate and three latkes?" I request sweetly, pulling out my wallet.

"Sure thing, sweetie," she replies. I pay as she hands me the food and drink and then leave. Guilt sits in my stomach. If anything ever goes down, I was never with Harriet. I don't even know her. That's that.

I sit on a bench and sip my drink, watching the people of New York pass me by. It's nice to eat the latkes, drink my hot chocolate, and relax. I know my parents are, most likely, still fighting, so I'm glad I'm out of the house. I don't want to go back, so before the night is out, I should find a place to go. Probably to Georges' or Peter's.

"Phillip!" I hear a voice call.

I look up to see Eliza and Maria waving at me, a few bags in their arms, both of them tightly bundled up in long winter coats, large scarfs, and some hats. They look they just stepped out of a 60s Russian winter fashion show. I stood up and smiled, my mouth full of my drink so I'm not quite able to greet them.

I swallow the rest and smile. "Hey!"

"What are you doing out here? Are you out shopping with your family?" Maria asks, peering around to see if she can spot my parents.

I chuckle. "Currently, my fathers are balls deep in another argument. My dad came up and basically told me to leave so they can fight, so here I am, drinking hot chocolate and eating Jewish foods. What about you?"

"Well, we were gonna meet up Laf, Herc, Thomas, and James to do some shopping. Would you like to join us?" Eliza asks.

"Oh, I don't want to intrude," I say shyly.

"Nonsense!" Maria exclaims. "They're bringing their kids anyway, so you can be our honorary son. Come on, we're Christmas shopping."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yes," Eliza confirms. "Come on, child of ours, we're gonna go do Christmas things. We're meeting them at Time Square. We were gonna get some Shake Shack for lunch. The walk is short, so let's go, hun."

I smile. "Thank you."

"So, Pip, what do you want for Christmas?" Maria questions as we all begin walking, Eliza on one side of me, Maria on the other.

"Uh..." I pause. "I dunno. Notebooks, old French poetry, a blanket."

"You're just like your dad," Eliza groans. "So, so needing of so little. Be for real, if you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?"

A family that's not constantly at each other's throats. "A nice pair of soft and comfy mittens might be nice. My hands are cold."

"Okay, there's a Gap store right there, let's get you some mittens," Eliza states.

"Oh, no it's really okay," I start.

Maria shakes her head. "Nope. We're spoiling our nephew. Also, I don't even want to see you think about paying. My sugar mommy has more than enough money to pay for a pair of mittens for you."

I groan as we enter the big store. "You guys, you really don't have to do this."

Eliza nods, pulling me towards the men's winter section. "Yes, we do. We are upstate all year, and now we're hanging out with our nephew, so we're gonna spoil him. Now, let's go pick something out for you. Wait, hold on, we're in Gap. Maria, Pip, you get mittens, I gotta get some presents. Let's meet up outside."

"Okay," I say slowly.

Maria chuckles as Eliza scurries off, flannel blowing in the wind. "Sorry, she's, she's excited about the Christmas season, and she's excited to see you. Hey, can I ask you something, Pip? As a worried aunt?"

"Yeah, sure," I mutter as I run my hand over some cashmere scarves.

"Are you eating?" Her voice is quiet.

I groan. "I'm trying. It's not like I purposely dropped ten pounds. I just, I don't have a lot of motivation to make food, and oftentimes I don't want to leave my room. Even if I am hungry, I can't go downstairs because my parents are fighting. Other times, I'm just out of the house with no money. I don't know. I'm not trying to starve myself. Truthfully, I hate that I've lost weight. My pants don't fit anymore, I'm cold, my knees hurt. That, and everyone is asking me if I'm starving myself. I know that's like, a thing kids do when shit is going on, but that's not my thing."

"We gotta buy you snacks for your room. How about, when we're done shopping, we get you some snacks, yeah? Fuckin, uh, chips and granola bars and peanut butter, all that vegan shit that gay teenagers eat." Maria holds up a pair of dark blue and mustard yellow gloves. "Hey, do you like these?"

I nod, smiling. "I do."

"Then let us go pay," she chuckles. "You're very difficult to buy Christmas presents for, but somehow, Eliza always knows exactly what to get anyone. Have you thought of any gift ideas for your parents?"

I groan. "None. Nada. Zip. I don't exactly know what to get them. Maybe divorce papers?" I chuckle, standing in line with Maria. "No, for real though? I got nothing. Literally, nothing."

"Adults are so hard to shop for. Luckily, Eliza is very transparent and hints at everything, so, I know to get her a new Kitchenaid cooking set, as well as a summer dress, some new headphones, and one of those little birds that drink the water. You know? Also, maybe you could get, uh, some cool art or something for your pop. Oh, I know! How about you get your pop some cool art from a vendor, and get your dad some coffee and writing stuff?" Maria suggests.

"Oh! I could get my dad some coffee from that little store he used to get coffee from in Washington Heights!" I say happily as the checker scans the gloves.

Maria nods, scanning her card. "Sounds perfect. We can take you up there. I don't think we'll be able to make it today, but maybe we can go next weekend after your last day of school for the year. Are you coming to Washington's for Christmas? We were gonna do a big thing this year with everyone there, but if you don't feel up for it, that's okay."

I shake my head, slipping on the gloves as we step outside. "No, no I'll be there. I got nowhere else to be, so Washington's sounds great."

"So, you got a mans or you still single?" Maria asks casually, wiggling her eyebrows.

I laugh. "Nope, I'm still single."

"Got your eye on anyone?" She questions, sitting on a bench with me.

I shrug. "Georges and Peter are pretty viable contestants. Georges is an asshole though, so I don't know about that."

"What about Peter?" Maria chuckles, crossing her legs.

A small smile comes to my lips. "He's, he's ideal. I think it would be ironic if I started dating a Jefferson though. Uh, no, he's nice, but we're mostly just hook up buddies."

"Would you want to be more if he asked?" Maria stares at me intently, obviously very interested in my love life.

A sigh escapes my lips. "Not right now. Maybe, maybe next summer or something. Or whenever things have calmed down, which will be god knows when. I don't know. For now, I'm really just happy with all my relationships where they are. Peter and I are casual, Georges and I are friends, I got another dude, William, who is nice. I don't know. I don't want to rock the boat. Everything is precariously balanced, and as long as I don't have any love-struck men getting on their knees and confessing their love for me, I'll be good."

Maria nods understandingly, smiling gently. "Yeah, I get that. You ain't gotta defend yourself to me. God knows being single was something I enjoyed."

"Hey, you two!" Eliza's sweet voice sings. "Oh! Phillip! I love those! Come on, I just got a text from Thomas. They're at the Disney store. Come on you cute little pair, I believe we have some gays to greet."

The walk to the Disney store is quick and filled with light conversation. We step through the doors and see the Jefferson's instantly. Peter stands to his full six-foot height and from the bench he was on and smiles at me, his red scarf hanging off his neck. He wears a simple black jacket, as well as some khaki joggers and a white tee shirt with a logo for something on it. He looks nice.

"Aye! Maria, my main chick, how you been girl? You looking like a fuckin' upstate New Yorker. Where'd your downtown gruff go?" Thomas chuckles, embracing the girl.

"Hey, Pip," Peter chuckles, scooping me into his arms.

I squeal and giggle as he leans down and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. "Peter, you fool, it's nice to see you."

"The Lafayette Mulligan family should be here in mere minutes!" Eliza announces, "so let's wait for them."

"Peter and I are going to browse the mug section which is right there," I say, pointing to the mug section which is way too big for a section that is just dedicated to, well, mugs. "Tell Georges we are over there."

"Mkay, Pip, stay safe. Do you need any money?" Eliza asks.

I shake my head. "No, thanks though."

"Okay, we'll text you guys when it's time to go," Thomas calls out.

"Thanks, Dad," Peter replies. We get into the mug section and he looks at me, cocking a brow. "The mug section? Since when are we domestic enough to browse kitchenware together? Doesn't this break some sort of love rule of yours?"

"Nowhere in my book does it say I cannot shop for classic Disney mugs with my childhood friend," I tease, poking his side. "Besides, we're going to have company in a matter of minutes, so it's not like I'm gonna propose."

Peter chuckles and grabs the edges of my scarf, pulling me closer to him. "You're gonna kill a brother one day, Phillip. Kill em dead."

"Oh really?" I chuckle. "How so?"

Peter shakes his head, his plump Afrocentric lips curving upwards into a smile. We stare at each other for a second, but then he pulls me into a deep kiss. I laugh a bit as I step closer, letting his hands trail down my sides and so my hips, under my trench coat but over my flannel. His mouth tastes like ginger and sugar, which means James has started cooking ginger snap cookies again. Peter glides his tongue across my bottom lip, and I gladly open my mouth, cherishing the taste and feeling of his mouth against mine.

"You know." Peter pecks my lips. "You look." He kisses me again. "Like Jason Dean." Another kiss. "From Heathers."

"No more talking, kiss this dead boy walking," I mumble, pulling Peter back down to kiss me. He laughs against my lips, gently reaching up and taking my hair out of its bun, then taking a handful of it to tug a bit.

At the sound of a throat clearing, we both jump apart. I turn to see Georges, standing there quite awkwardly in a red bomber jacket and a black hoodie, as well as some black joggers. He's rubbing the back of his neck, looking down, his cheeks obviously darker than usual. I smile though and walk over to embrace him, happy to see my best friend.

"Hi, Georgie, I missed ya," I mumble, chuckling.

"You saw me yesterday," Georges points out.

I roll my eyes. "Still missed you."

"Hey, Georges," Peter says, bro hugging my taller French friend.

"Sup, Peter," Georges nods.

I groan. "I'll never understand why dudes are like, so not in touch with their feelings. It's boring. Make out with someone, goddamn."

Peter chuckles. "Come on, kid, we're in a Disney store. Let's go find some Disney things. Fuck around. You know, do those teenager things."

"Let's be normal, see bad movies, sneak a beer and watch TV. We'll go bowling, or bake brownies, don't you want a life with me?" I sing. "Can't we be seventeen?"

Georges smiles and claps his hands together. "Beautiful, Pip."

I roll my eyes as the three of us make our way to the escalator to go upstairs. I'm secretly gonna lead them to the Star Wars section since that was my favorite. I grew up watching Star Wars. My dad was never the biggest fan, but I guess my pop got really into it a few years into college, so as a little kid I would sit down and watch it with the three of them. I still remember being scared when Anakin got his legs cut off, or when Darth Sidious electrocuted Luke while Darth Vader watched, but I still liked the movies.

"Chewy!" I squeal happily when I see an almost life-sized doll of the big furry beast. I've always loved Chewbacca because he reminds me of a dog I used to have as a kid. He was a big fluffy German Shepard named Boheme. He died when I was fourteen, but I still keep his collar hanging up in my room.

"You want me to take a picture of you?" Georges asks, pulling out his phone.

I nod, hugging the big doll. "Yes, please!"

I pose, smiling widely as Georges takes my picture. The polyester fur tickles my nose, but I ignore it. I love the Disney store, though I don't come here often since I know I would never have any money if I did.

"Do you think I could pull this off?" Peter asks, holding up a pair storm trooper booty shorts. "Like, I think I could. I have the ass for it."

"Oh, yeah, totally," Georges says, nodding.

Peter laughs.

"Guys, if you want to get me anything for Christmas, you should get me this!" I exclaim, holding up a Chewbacca stuffy about the size of my torso.

"What would you even do with that?" Peter asks.

"I would cuddle him when you boys are too busy to love me!" I point out, giggling as I hug the toy closer to me. "Chewbacca, why are you the only good man left in this world?"

"We love you too, Pip," Georges chuckles. "What's up with you and Star Wars? You've always liked it. I would think, just, you don't look or act like a Star Wars person."

"The whole thing is about rebelling against an oppressive society, about inexcusably problematic people, about living with people and things so much more different from you, but only caring if they're on your side!" I go on, picking up a lightsaber and waving it around. "Star Wars is a dream world! Would it be awesome? To just travel through space with some friends and cool star blasters? To fight for freedom? How can you not be a Star Wars person? It's everything we stand for, as black gay men."

"I'm bi," Peter points out.

"As black queer men!" I correct. "Can you, just, oh my God, it would be amazing! I wish I would travel in space!"

Georges chuckles. "Alright, you nerd."

"You have angered the Jedi master!" I say ominously, bearing my blue lightsaber. "Prepare to meet my wrath!" I lunge at Georges playfully and he's quick to scoop me up in his arms, playfully swinging me around. I squeal and giggle, trying to break free. "Georges! That tickles!" I laugh a little more. "Put me down!"

Georges gently sets me down, kissing my cheek as he does so. "Punishment for calling you a nerd hath been bestowed upon me, Jedi master Pip."

"Damn right it has," I mumble, smiling as I put the fake plastic weapon back.

"Oh Phillip," Peter sings.

I look over to see him holding up a stormtrooper Christmas dress, obviously meant for an adult, due to how short it was. "Oh my God, yes."

"I would pay to see you in that," Georges mumbles, chuckling.

"Okay, there are dressing rooms around here," I say. "What size is that?"

"Uh..." Peter looks at the tag. "Medium."

"Per-" I cut myself off, remembering all the weight I dropped. Remembering how most mediums fall right off me. "Can you get a small?"

Concerned, Peter hands me a small and we all go on a search to find the dressing rooms. Thankfully, we find them quick enough and I enter, holding the dress, Peter, and Georges outside, waiting for me. I slip off my trench coat and flannel, as well as my grey wife beater. Then my shoes and jeans. The dress slips on easily, and I find myself turning around in the mirror, glancing over myself. I don't wear dresses, and I don't typically dress feminine, with the exception of the occasional crop top, but for a joke, I've never minded putting on a dress and acting ridiculous.

This dress isn't ugly, really. It's low cut, a bit loose around my chest since I don't have tits, and goes down to about the middle of my thigh. It hugs my waist firmly and doesn't make me look half bad. The straps slip on my shoulders a bit, but again, that's just because I don't have tits to fill it out a bit more. I do look nice, despite the fact that my legs aren't really thick enough to fill it out. I'm trying to gain the weight back, but it's hard when I never feel hungry, or when I do, I'm too tired to make something. I really gotta talk to my dad or pop about it.

"You are under arrest by imperial order," I say sexily as I open the door to the dressing room and strike a pose for Peter and Georges. I'm met with silence. I look at them, expecting to see some frozen awkward boner face, or a holding back a laugh face, but neither of those even hint at the expressions of Georges and Peter. They both look concerned, scared almost. Brows furrowed, Peter's mouth hanging a bit agape, Georges biting his lip. I instantly stop posing and tug the dress down a bit, my face heating up. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You..." Peter trails off.

"Where's the other half of you?" Georges asks.

I swallow hard, my mouth going dry. "What do you-"

Georges cuts me off. "Pip, there's like, nothing left of you! You're bone! I can see your sternum and collar bones as if there was nothing covering them."

Biting my lip, I close the door to the dressing room and take off the dress. I don't look in the mirror, knowing if I do, I'll break down. Instead, I slip on my jeans, tank top, flannel, shoes, and jacket, then step out of the dressing room again. Peter and Georges, who are facing each other as if they were quietly arguing, whip their heads over to look at me. I bite my lip, pulling my coat closed a bit to cover myself more. I didn't want their eyes on me right now, judging me, trying to guess whatever is going on. I already feel ugly like this. It doesn't matter is Eaker thinks I look good, in fact, that really just makes it worse. I want my appetite back, I want to be back at my nice and healthy one hundred and fifty-five pounds when I had slim muscle and a slim thick build. I don't want to look like this, and I don't want anyone pointing it out.

"Let's go look at the princess stuff," I suggest quickly before either of them can get a word in. "I like the castle. Ooh, maybe they have some Mulan merch because you know we stand her. God, it's been a while since I've had a good Disney binge."

"Phillip hold on, you-"

I cut George off, turning around to look at him and dropping any hint of a smile from my face. "No. Drop it. I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Phillip you can't just-"

This time, it's Peter who interrupts Georges. "Hey, he doesn't want to talk about it right now. Just, leave it."

Georges mumbles something but doesn't say anything else that's very audible.

Deciding I don't want any awkward silence, I begin talking. "I'm so happy it's finally Christmas month. I just love the magic of the colors, the way everything looks. No one can truly know Christmas until they spend it in Manhattan. Everything is so beautiful, the lights, decorations. Then, of course, the hundreds of stores teeming with sales and decorations. Mm, and all the yummy Christmas foods and drinks." I pause as we enter the Disney princess area, a bit in awe at the pretty colors. "What's your favorite Christmas food?"

"Oh, chestnuts, all the way," Georges answers.

"I'm more of an oyster man," Peter chuckles. "And you, Prince Phillip?"

"Gingersnaps," I sing, running my fingers across the seam of a dress, feeling the soft velvet. "I just love how sweet and gooey they are. My pop makes them so good, and there's always actual molasses in the middle that drips down your chin when you take a bite. Mm, I'm hungry. Cookies sound so good to me right now."

"Well, there's a little bakery nearby, we'll make sure to make a stop there," Georges smiles.

"Hey, kids!" I hear a French accent say. I look over to see Lafayette and Hercules approaching us, holding each other hands. "How is your wandering going?"

I smile. "Wonderful. We saw Star Wars stuff."

"That's great. We came to find you, figured that you were gonna be in the princess area. We're gonna head over to Old Navy. Do you guys need to buy anything?" Hercules questions.

Peter shakes his head. "Nah, I don't think so."

We all make our way out of the Disney store and down a block into Old Navy. The store is huge and I instantly go to the pajama section, not caring if Georges or Peter are with me. Yes, I am supposed to be Christmas shopping, but I have coupons on my phone for half off pajamas, so of course, I am going to buy myself some. I'm gonna buy them all in the size I wear when I'm at my normal weight, so when I gain it back, they'll still fit.

I find some pajama pants, a few sweaters, as well as a red flannel onesie, that is definitely a good Christmas outfit. Then, I make sure to pick up some fuzzy socks for all my friends, as well as a few pairs of soft leggings for Theo.

"There you are," I hear a voice say.

I turn and see Peter, smiling at me. "Hey, you."

"Whatcha got there?" He asks, coming closer.

"Just some pajamas for me," I say, smiling cheekily. "And some other gifts."

Peter chuckles, gently pulling me closer to him. "You're so cute, you know that?"

"No," I gasp dramatically. "Papa banned mirrors in our house and today is my first day out in public."

Peter laughs and gently plants a kiss on my lips. "You're real funny, Phillip Hamilton. I'm sorry if Georges embarrassed you. You did look really good in that dress."

I look down a bit. "I'm not starving myself. I don't, I don't like my body like this. I don't want to look like this. I just, I'm going through a rough time, and I can't, I'm just not hungry. I'm sad. I don't, I can't-"

Peter cuts me off gently. "Hey, as long as you aren't trying to do this. I'll start bringing you lunch, and you can always come over to my place for dinner when you don't want to cook for yourself, or just text me and I'll order you a pizza. I don't, I don't want you to starve, and I'll do whatever I can to help. You're still beautiful Phillip, don't forget that. There's nothing wrong with needing a little help. Okay?"

I smile, leaning my head against his chest. "Thank you. But I'm really not that pretty right now. Georges is right, I'm just bone. I'm all pale, and I got bags under my eyes. I don't even like the way I look and I've always liked the way I look."

"I'm not gonna say that you're at your prime, because right now, you look unhealthy, and I don't want you thinking that this is good, but, you just, you're still Phillip Hamilton," Peter states. "You still have your pretty hazel eyes, your lovely curly hair, that smile that lights up a whole damn room. You, you are still Phillip."

"God," I laugh. "You're gonna make me fucking cry, you prick."

Peter chuckles and kisses the top of my head. "You're real good, Phillip."

Smiling, I step back and take his hand. "Come on, let's go get some bath bombs and pay for all of this. Maybe I'll let you kiss me when we're not hidden in the sweater section."

Peter laughs and we make our way to the checkout line. It's not too long, So we stand there and wait, me picking out more presents from the small bins that Old Navy has by the check out lane. I get hand sanitizers for James, face masks for Theo, hand lotions for Lafayette, and glitter for Thomas because he loves glitter. Of course, I make Peter hold all these little things. He doesn't complain though, simply smiles as I grab a water bottle with a cute dog on it for Dosia and stack into the other gifts.

"Pip, you are a retail worker's worst nightmare," Peter comments jokingly as we set all the stuff on the counter.

"I beg to differ!" I complain. "I pay all on one card, which doesn't get declined."

"Where do you get all this money? You don't have a job," Peter points out.

"Call me privileged, but I'm hooked up to my dad's bank account," I say cheekily as the lady working the counter begins scanning my items. "Isn't that neat?"

The taller boy next to me smiles, leaning down and planting a kiss on my temple. "Oh, yeah, totally. Very neat, Phillip."

"Shut up!" I say playfully, hitting his side. "When am I gonna see you buying presents?"

"Already been bought," he smirks. "I get my Christmas shopping done in non-Christmas times. I bought my dads their presents during back to school, which was great. I got a good deal on new inkwells for my baba, who always insists on using quills, and then for my dad, of course, I bought him an iPad."

"Oh, yeah, of course, why didn't I think of buying everyone an iPad? That would be so much easier!" I say sarcastically. "Now who's privileged?"

"We're rich queer black people living in New York, of course we're privileged we live in the most accepting place in the world," Peter says, smiling. "Of course, mister adventure over here would rather go to Russia and get murdered or something."

"I'm not going to Russia!" I exclaim as I pull out my wallet since the checking lady is getting close to being done with my items. "I'm just traveling, then headed to California or something. Oakland, maybe, you know, it's the west coast Atlanta."

Peter chuckles. "Oakland, that sounds real nice. Maybe I'll meet you there."

"You know, Peter, I like you way more than I ought to," I mumble as I scan my card.

"What does that mean?" Peter asks childishly as he takes a few of the bags I need to carry. "Does little Pip have a confession he needs to make?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't ruin the moment."

"For real though," Peter says, stopping me next to the door. "What do you mean?"

I sigh, leaning up and pecking his lips. "How about I tell you when this whole mess of my current situation gets cleaned up, yeah? When I stop needing to cope twenty-four seven. I can't give you an exact date of when that is, but, maybe you can wait for me? Be fine with exactly how we are right now?"

Peter gently leans down and kisses me. "Phillip, I can most definitely wait for you to be in a better place. Whatever you need, I'll be here, okay?"

I smile. "You, you're too good."

"Can you believe a Hamilton and a Jefferson are about to make out? Two rival families, like Pyramus and Thisbe," Peter jokes.

"Oh? Who says we're about to make out?" I tease, running my hand over Peter's short curly hair and to the back of his neck where I gently rub the soft cute baby hairs.

"Well, both of us I would hope, or else the kiss wouldn't be very fun," he states, biting his plump brown lips.

I shake my head, smiling. "Come here."

Peter pulls me closer and begins kissing me. I giggle and bite his lip, bringing a small sound from his throat. His hands grip my hips as he gently slips his tongue into my mouth. I can't help but smile against his soft lips. This kiss isn't violent or sexual or an initiation of anything. This is just a kiss. A sweet gentle kiss. A nice wholesome kiss in Old Navy, next to some manikins modeling the latest winter fashion.

"Well, well, well," says a voice.

Peter and I jump and break away, looking over and realizing that James and Thomas are standing right there. My cheeks heat up and I begin laughing a bit. Peter barely seems phased though. It's not like Thomas didn't know Peter and I were involved. I mean, he had walked into Peter's room that one day and realized almost instantly that we had just gotten done doing the nasty. Still, parents are something I've never liked dealing with if they know that something is going on between their kid and me.

"Hey dad, hey baba," Peter smiles. "Are the others close behind?"

"Hold up a second," James says, waving his hands around a bit. "You two, hold on, a Hamilton? Our son is breeding with a Hamilton?"

I laugh. "Going off my understanding of the biological process, no, he's not."

"I like Phillip," Thomas states. "He's got enough John in him so that he's normal and not willing to staple his hand anytime he doesn't want to do something."

"Well, we are not currently dating, if you guys are under that impression," Peter states. "So, thank you for the half approval, but we're still just friends."

"Every fucking Hamilton is like this!" Thomas rants. "It's always 'let's kiss and act like we're dating but who needs to actually date?' I hate this! You Hamiltons are slow burn!"

I tilt my head back, chuckling. "I know, we all suck."

James smiles. "No, to answer your earlier question, my son, yes, they are right behind us, and we will be headed to Shake Shack next to get some food."

"Yes!" I cheer. "I love their vegan burger, oh man, their lemonade is so good."

Peter plants a kiss on the side of my head. "Come on you dork, let's go get some food."

So, as the others join us, I take Peter's hand and we begin walking to the restaurant, aware of the eyes following our touching limbs, but blissfully ignorant to them as well.


	26. Who needs a white Christmas when it can be red hot and naughty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See You Again by Tyler, The Creator is how Peter feels about Phillip
> 
> Also! Happy Passover!

/Phillip/

I sit in the car with my pop driving to Washington's house. With some negotiating from the adults, some puppy dog eyes from me, as well as Maria and Eliza, we all came up with a big old Christmas arrangement for the messy broken family. My pop was to accompany me on Christmas eve to Washington's house, spending the night there with me. The next morning, my dad would arrive and open presents with us. I had all my presents to everyone in the back. I ended up getting Laf some fancy makeup brushes, Georges a Ripndip hoodie, and Eliza and Maria two paintings of lesbian cats cuddling. For Hercules, I made a big collage of African fashion, sleek and modern. Then, for my parents, I got what I said I would get them when I was with Maria and Eliza. My pop is getting a big Andy Warhol poster, and my dad is getting Washington Heights coffee, as well as new pens. I also got Peter a big map of the solar system, in detail with all the stars, and then a Tyler, The Creator tee shirt, which is a rapper he really likes.

"It's gonna be nice to get together with everyone," my pop smiles, pulling into Washington's driveway. "It's been a while since I've seen all of them."

I nod, getting out and trying to balance all the gifts in my arms. "Yeah, they miss you. I'm glad we're spending Christmas here."

My pop laughs. "Kid, let me help you." He takes some of the gifts in his arms. "But no, I am too. Come on, I'm sure that Washington is watching us through his window, waiting to open the door for us."

We walk up to the front door and, as my pop said, Washington opens it before we even knock, welcoming us in with big hellos and smiles. I almost fall, forgetting about the bump in the doorway, but Washington steadies me and leads me to the tree.

"Phillip!" I hear Lafayette say. "And John! Hey!"

"Lafayette, my man," my pop smiles, setting down the presents and embracing Lafayette. He goes on to hug not only Lafayette, but a happy Thomas, James, and Hercules. Eliza and Maria, who are on the couch drinking eggnog, stay seated but give him a curt nod. Ah, so a line has been drawn. They picked a side. The most nonpartisan lesbians I've ever met picked a damn side. They took the side of the cheater, interesting.

"Ah!" I squeal, feeling a pair of arms go around my waist and pick me up.

"Hey there, lovely!" A voice chuckles, lips kissing my cheek. "Guess who."

"Hmm," I say, gently placing my hands over their so I don't cheat. "Tall, strong chest, deep voice, soft lips. Why this must be none other than Peter Jefferson!" I turn around to see Peter, smiling gently at me. I smile. "It's good to see your face."

"Come on, let's get some eggnog in you. Dinner should be starting soon, and everyone cooked vegan since you and your pop were showing up," Peter suggests, taking my hand. "You did bring overnight clothes, yeah? As much as I like you in that ravishing ugly sweater and jeans, I think you may want to change into something more comfortable later."

I giggle. "Yeah, my bag is in the car."

Peter and I. Peter and I are still the same. I made it clear to him that while I did see myself with him in the future, now was not the time for me to date. Peter didn't say any protest. In fact, when I told him this, he took my hand and kissed it, then told me to take all the time I needed. I really appreciate him for that. Even, even if he moves on in the time I need, finds someone else, I'll be fine. I'm not going to make him wait for me, and I told him that. I told him that if he found someone else, that he shouldn't let me stop him. He waved his hand and told me there was no one quite like me.

"Phillip!" Theo says as we enter the kitchen. She's leaning against the counter Georges, drinking eggnog. "It's so good to see you baby! Come on, the eggnog is vegan and the bourbon is unattended, so drink up!" She says as she begins mixing the alcohol with the sweet Christmas drink. "Is it just you?"

"Pop is in the living room," I answer, taking the drink from her extended hand and taking a sip. "Dad is showing up tomorrow morning, and will probably give me a call tonight. You shoulda seen Eliza when he walked in." I lean in and hug Georges, gently kissing his cheek. He hugs me back tightly, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, I had never seen her look so, so, emotionless," Peter agreed.

"Well, she totally picked your dad's side," Theo points out. "No, she came over with Maria to my house for dinner one night, and she basically ranted about how angry she was at John for an hour, and I gotta admit, she's kinda right."

"There are two sides to it, though," I point out, leaning against Georges and sipping my drink. "She, she has a right to pick a side but she can't ignore the flaws my dad has."

"Oh yeah, she acknowledged that," Theo nods. "For another hour."

I laugh. "Eliza is such a mood."

Georges nods. "When is dinner gonna start? I am famished, haven't eaten all day."

"Oh shit, neither have I," I mumble, thinking to the two skipped meals from the time spent wrapping presents or sleeping. "Listened to a lot of Blink-182 though. Because, well, it's was Christmas eve and I had only wrapped two fucking presents."

"You gotta eat, baby!" Theo says. "Here, liquor has calories."

Georges places his hand over my cup before Theo can dump any unholy amounts of the adult beverage into my drink. "Phillip needs vitamins and carbs, as well as proteins and lipids, which alcohol has none of, so let him eat some real food, yeah you funky lesbian?"

"So mean," Theo pouts, setting down the glass.

"You kids better not be drinking!" I hear Dosia yell.

"Mom! Why would I, a wholesome lesbian, drink?" Theo replies.

"I knew it!" Aaron yells.

"Honey, she's been out since school started!" Dosia states.

Theo laughs. "He is dense."

"Okay, it's dinner!" Washington yells.

I sneak a little more bourbon into my eggnog, much to Georges' disapproval, then make my way into the large dining room. I sit down next to my dad, then Peter sits on the other side of me, gently placing his hand on my thigh. I smile as food is set down by Martha and Aaron, letting the smells entice me. Eliza paces a large bottle of Rose on the table, and it instantly begins getting passed around, since there is a wine glass at every place setting. It gets to my pop, and he reaches for it, but before he can, I take it, skipping over him and pouring some in my glass before handing it to Peter, who also pours some.

"Who says you can drink?" My pop asks, looking at me.

I hold up my glass, smiling. "Viva la resistance, pop. I'm fluent in French, so I can drink whatever I wish to."

He smiles, raising an eyebrow, but says nothing.

"Okay!" Martha smiles, sitting down. "Everything is vegan since I'm pretty sure half of you are vegan or accidentally vegan now! I don't know, I can't keep track of your food. Everything is vegan and gluten-free, so chow down."

"Phillip, have some of this," Eliza states, pointing at a dish.

"Here, I'll serve you up since I have longer arms," Peter smiles. He takes my plate and begins piling up food on it. I know that he is definitely doing this to get me to eat, which is something I appreciate since I am starving.

"Pip," Theo says from across the table. "Pip, you look so beautiful tonight."

I smile. "Thank you, Theo. You look beautiful as well."

"Okay, so, can we talk about how much James Monroe sucks?" Angelica says, her mouth half full.

Thomas groans. "I hate the man! He's so annoying! Like, Hamilton despises him and always has, but recently I'm starting to see why! It's like, now that Alex just staples himself whenever the man is within five feet, he's decided to bug the rest of us! I swear, I need one of those baby staplers so I can start stapling my hand too."

"Baby, don't do that," James smiles. "Just, rub the back of your neck and I'll go into a coughing fit and we can skedaddle."

"Eliza, this is good wine, where did you get it?" I ask, sipping the wine to wash down a bit of stuffing.

"You are sixteen," my pop says.

"I got it from the liquor store on the corner of fifteenth and twentieth. It's Wolffer Hill Estate dry, Oregon, 2017," Eliza smiles, holding up her glass a bit. "How were finals?"

I shrug. "Haven't had the balls to check how I did. Thanks for helping me study though. Those flashcards really came in handy."

"Oh, that's good. I'm sure you did great though. Did you turn in that English essay? He gave you like, a two-month extension," Maria says.

I nod. "Peter, how do you think you did on finals?"

"Straight Bs, baby. Parents couldn't be prouder," Peter smiles.

"You are smart enough to get As," Thomas states.

"I don't need As, I have nice hair and hatred for capitalism," Peter announces.

"Thomas, why is your son way more relatable than you?" Lafayette smiles. "Like, you go Peter. Capitalism does suck, and your hair is nice."

"Remember Christmas in our fourth year of college?" James smiles.

"Oh my God," my pop groans. "Don't remind me. I was hungover for a week."

"No, you got the flu," Angie states, "from drinking off that fucking keg. Laf and Peggy got the same flu. Oh, speaking of Peggy, does anyone know where the hell she is in the world right now? I haven't heard from her in a while, and I can't keep track of what country she's in."

I raise my hand. "She's somewhere over the Pacific right now. She's gonna be here around four am, so she'll be spending Christmas day here."

"Yay!" Theo cheers. "I miss aunt Pegs. She always brings us cool things, like a dried rat, or dark chocolate with THC in it. She's cool."

"I still have the bong she got me," Peter laughs.

"I have the jar of bones," I smile.

"You have a jaw of bones?" My pop gasps. "Since when do you have a jar of bones?"

"Easter," I answer plainly.

"This kid is going to be the death of me," my pop laughs. "Liz, would you pass me the pasta, please?"

Eliza puts on a sour face and passes my pop the pasta.

"I'm sorry," my pop starts, smiling and cocking his head. "Did I do something to you? You seem to be a bit upset with me."

The table freezes. It seems that everyone but my pop knows of Eliza's anger. I bite my lip and look at Peter, my eyes wide a smile on my face. I just love it when someone goes off. I knew there was gonna be some drama going on this Christmas, so I am prepared for it. Peter looks back at me and is obviously feeling the same thing as me.

"Actually John, I am-"

Angelica cuts Eliza off. "It's Christmas, please don't fight."

"No, I want to know why Eliza is mad at me," my pop states, leaning forward.

Eliza smiles. "You know exactly why I'm mad at you. You play the victim but you don't wanna do shit to fix your current situation. Alex cheated on you for one summer, you cheated on him for three years. In fact." Eliza sits back, looking around. "All of you gave Alex so much shit when this first dropped, but I specifically remember when John cheated on Alex, none of you said anything. John did god knows what with whatever twink he could get his hands on, Alex stayed home and cried his heart out. I don't want to hear shit about what Alex did wrong."

The table is quiet.

"Eliza, it was a different situation," Lafayette states quietly.

"No! It wasn't!" Eliza exclaims.

"She's right," Herc sighs. "I know, I know Alex didn't want to leave John, but we should've been there for him more besides just sending him pictures and advising him to talk about it, or leave."

"Look, it was a drunk mistake, why are you bringing it up?" My pop snaps.

"Because do you know how mean you've been to Alex? I don't really think you have any right throwing yourself a damn pity party when Alex knew you cheated on him, didn't say anything, didn't come crying to anyone. I'm not saying that Alex did nothing wrong-"

My pop cuts Eliza off. "Oh really? Because that's what it sounds like."

"Don't fucking interrupt me," Eliza snaps. "I'm not saying that Alex did nothing wrong, what I am saying is maybe you should stop picking fights whenever you get the chance, stop fucking with his emotions like you are. You fight, you come crawling into his office for some late night-"

I cut Eliza off. "Child ears!"

She pauses, then looks back to John. "Then, the next morning, you act as if none of it happened. Alex fucked up big time, yes, but you are acting like a petulant child. Grow up and act like an adult. You have a kid of your own, and you have a husband who, believe it or not, does feel pretty fucking bad about what he did, which is more than I can say for you."

"Eliza, why do you have to bring drama into Christmas?" Angelica groans.

Eliza looks at her, eyes wide. "Oh whatever, you know when Alex found out John was cheating, you practically prayed for them to break up so you could get into Alex's pants. Why the fuck do you have to butt into everyone's lives? It's always 'judge Peggy' or 'critique Eliza.' You're not mom."

"Guys it's Christmas," Laf says, biting his lip.

"And what better time is there to truly clear the air?" Angelica snaps. "You know, Eliza, while we're talking, I think we should bring up-"

"Okay!" Washington's loud voice booms. "Enough, enough, Lafayette is right. This group is too fragile to start another fight. Eliza, if you have beef with John, you bring it up elsewhere. After dinner, if you two want to go into the back yard and put up your dukes, then be my guest. Angelica, as the older sister, you are supposed to be setting a good example and not engaging. Eliza is angry, but as family, it is your job to hear her voice. John, Eliza is right on many levels, so before you attack her, which I know you want to do, think about that. Finally, it is Christmas, I am with some of my favorite people, Alex and Peggy will be here tomorrow, and Martha cooked some amazing food. So, I would appreciate, for Phillip's sake, for my sake, for any sane person's sake, if you wish to fight, take it outside. Is that understood?"

The table is quiet, but people are nodding.

"Now, Eliza, apologize to John," Washington states.

Eliza sighs, but looks to my pop. "I'm sorry for calling you out in front of everyone."

"Now, John apologize to Eliza," Washington continues.

My pop rolls his eyes. "Eliza, I'm sorry for interrupting you and fighting with you."

Washington nods. "Angelica, apologize to Eliza."

Angelica huffs but looks to her sister. "I'm sorry for not hearing your voice and critiquing you on your life."

Washington gestures from Eliza to Angelica expectantly.

"Angelica," Eliza starts. "I'm sorry for saying that thing about getting into Alex's pants, and yelling at you."

"Okay, now can we please have a good dinner?" Washington asks exasperatedly. "Only five of you out of the fourteen are lawyers, we really should not have this much arguing."

The table is quiet for a second, but then Dosia speaks up, saving the day. "I've gotta say, George, this is still a way better Christmas than the ones at my hometown."

Theo groans.

Aaron chuckles. "Your mom taking off her fucking wig and beating we with it while you hit her with your slipper. Oh, let's not forget the time her sister was cooking and I suggested a spice that I usually use in the food she was making, and holy shit, she like, blew up. I didn't think I was going to see the light of day."

"What the hell goes on in your hometown?" Hercules asks.

"My momma is a fully fledged black woman," Dosia states. "Do any of y'all know the fear of your momma grabbing the heel of her slipper to take it off?"

The table is quiet.

"That's what I thought," Dosia continues, laughing.

"I had a grandma like that," Hercules puts it, laughing. "She was crazy. Like, absolutely crazy. She once threw a very big spoonful of mashed potatoes at me."

I laugh. "For real?"

Hercules nods, smiling. "It was wild. Southern women are terrifying, and that's the whole truth. They either, they either are real uptight, ready to throw expensive China at you for touching the walls or they, well, they're like my grandma. Ready to throw anything at you for existing as the person you just so happen to be."

Dinner goes by peacefully after that. No more fights. Angelica, Eliza, and my pop stay kinda quiet, but the conversation continues, people happily talking. It's not Christmas if there isn't a fight, but I'm glad we got it out of the way early on so we could have a nice rest of the evening. After dinner ends, we all migrate back to the living room, trays of cookies and cups of eggnog bourbon with us. I'm about to sit down, but then my phone starts ringing. I smile, seeing my dads contact. Quickly I stand up and walk to the kitchen, smiling brightly.

"Hey, dad!" I say as I pick up.

"Hey, Pip! I figured dinner should be over, so that's why I called you. Is it?" My dad asks from the other end of the line.

"Yup," I say. "Everyone cooked vegan, so I ate so much, I think my stomach is going to explode. Did you order some Chinese food or something?"

My dad laughs. "The vegans are out of the house. I ordered a meat lovers pizza, fried chicken, and a meatball marinara sub, which I have been eating through the night."

I gag. "Yuck."

"How did dinner go?" My dad asks. "Anyone die?"

"No, no one died," I chuckle. "But Eliza got into a fight with pop and then I think Angie almost dove across the table at Eliza when she said something."

"Oh boy," my dad says. "You know, if college, Eliza was actually very tame, never fought. She's a therapist for christ's sake, I thought those people never fought anyone."

I laugh.

"No, I miss you kid," my dad says. "It's weird spending Christmas eve without you."

I pause, thinking. A lump builds in my throat as I imagine my poor dad, sitting in his office alone, take out surrounding him. I suddenly feel very sad, and for a second, I can't talk, just feel the slight pain in my chest as my eyes water up.

"Pip, you still there?" My dad asks calmly.

"Yeah," I mumble, my voice cracking. "I miss you too."

"Hey, hey," my dad says, obviously able to tell I'm close to crying. "Don't cry, Pip. It's okay. What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

I sniffle. "I miss you, and yeah, I get it, it probably wouldn't be the best idea to just show up now and spend the night, and I know I'm gonna see you in a little over twelve hours, but I've never spent Christmas eve without one of you guys, and I dunno." A small sob breaks from my chest. "I just miss you."

"Hey," my dad says softly. "What do you need right now?"

I chuckle. "A hug would be nice."

"I'll be there in ten minutes, okay? I won't stay for long, but I'll give you the best hug you've ever had," my dad states, a noise coming from the background.

"Wait, dad, no," I start.

My dad sighs gently. "Ten minutes, okay? I don't, I don't want my son to be sad on Christmas eve."

"Okay," I mumble, giving in. "I love you, see you soon."

"I love you too, Pip," my dad replies before hanging up. I lean against the counter and bite my thumb, trying to hold back tears. People in the living room are talking, laughing. I don't really want to be out there right now, so I just stand in the kitchen, leaning against my counter. My heart pounds in my chest, my eyes hurt and water. I don't want to bother my dad, but I am kinda glad I'm gonna be getting a hug from him.

Ten minutes go by, and then I get a text from him, telling me he's pulled up to the curb. I smile and go to the door, slipping on my shoes.

"Where you going, Pip?" Lafayette asks, drawing everyone's attention.

"Oh, uh, my dad is outside because I wanted a hug, so I'm gonna go get my hug," I state. "So, yeah."

"He drove all the way here so you could get a hug?" Thomas asks slowly.

I nod, then step outside. I see my dad leaning against his car, his jacket on. It's dark, but not too dark. Snow gently falls, as it has been for the past few weeks. I smile, walking up to my dad and hugging him. He hugs me back tightly, stroking my hair. A small sob breaks in my chest and he hugs me tighter, letting me cry. Everything sucks so hard right now, but at least I'm getting a hug from my dad.

"Don't cry, Pip," my dad whispers. "It's okay. You're okay. You're all good. Everything is okay. Even if it sucks, it's okay. I'm right here. I'm always gonna be here."

I sniffle. "I just want shit to be normal again."

"I know, Pip, I know," my dad whispers. "It's okay. You know I love you, right?"

"I know," I mumble. "I love you too. Are you sure you can't stay tonight?"

My dad sighs, gently releasing me. "I just, it's not the best idea. It'll cause unneeded tension. I'll be there tomorrow morning. I'm picking up Peggy from the airport too, so she'll be with me. Hey, it's gonna be alright, okay? We're still a family. I'm still your dad. I still love you more than anything. I know, I know you're gonna blow us all away."

I smile. "Thank you."

My dad wipes a few tears from my cheeks. "Well, you should probably go back inside. Lafayette has been staring at us through the window this entire time, so I think I should head out. Hey, I'll be back around seven or eight, alright? We'll have a nice Christmas."

"Aren't you lonely at home?" I ask.

My dad shakes his head. "I'm doing work and watching Netflix, kid. Besides, I'll be picking up Peggy in less than ten hours, and you know the girl can talk your ear off. Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine. Go back inside, enjoy yourself."

I nod. "Okay. I love you."

My dad smiles. "I love you too. Now, go get that bread."

I groan. "You just ruined it."

My dad pulls me into another hug. "Merry Christmas kid, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Merry Christmas dad," I say as he gently kisses my forehead. I wave and walk back inside, rubbing my arms as I step out of the cold air into the warm room. Peter greets me with a cup of eggnog and guides me to the doorway of the living room. I lean against it and he stands in front of me, smiling as other conversations go on.

"How was that?" He asks.

I smile. "It was nice. I'm glad I saw my dad, and I'm glad he's coming tomorrow."

Peter chuckles. "I'm glad you're glad. So, it's been a wild Christmas so far. One fight, one unexpected guest, Theo is drunk, Georges is, well, he's getting there."

"And what about you, mister Peter Jefferson? Have you been working through your own cup of eggnog bourbon?" I tease.

"I had wine with dinner, but I just so happen to be pretty sober, and you, Phillip Hamilton?" He asks.

"I can hold my liquor better than any of you," I reply. "I'm not even buzzed."

"Peter and Phillip are under the mistletoe!" I hear Theo loudly yell.

I look up and realize that Peter and I are in fact, under the mistletoe. Blood flows to my cheeks and my eyes widen. I've never been one to get flustered, but I guess this impromptu kissing tradition that I've been thrown into in front of the people who have watched me grow up has caught me off guard a bit.

"They have to kiss!" Theo continues.

"No they don't," Lafayette says. "It's a stupid old tradition that we only use so the adults have an excuse to kiss. Phillip, Peter, you two don't have to kiss."

"Oh, no, I'm gonna kiss him," Peter says, taking my eggnog cup from my hand and setting on a coffee table next to the doorway with his.

"Wait what-"

I'm cut off by Peter taking me in his arms and spinning me around, then dipping me gracefully. For a second, he just stares at me, smiling, then he gently leans down and kisses my forehead, soft and sweet, before pulling me back up. My eyes are wide as I stare at him, almost in shock at his actions.

"Since when do you know how to dip people?" I ask incredulously.

Peter laughs, handing me my cup and pulling me into the living room so we're no longer under the dreaded Christmas love plant. "I took ballroom dance for like, four years. Of course I can dip someone. It was the first thing I learned."

"Why don't you dip me?" Lafayette asks Hercules.

"Because you're clumsy, I'm clumsy, we'd both end up on the floor, and I didn't take four years of ballroom dance," Herc states.

Peter sits down on the couch and I sit on the floor, leaning against his legs, listening into the conversation. The night goes on, and soon enough, we all decide it's time to watch a Christmas movie, get on our pajamas, stuff like that. I go into the bathroom and put on the loose flannel pants that are meant to fit me when I'm back at my normal weight, as well as a black tee shirt. I tie my hair up in a bun and go downstairs.

"Pip, come try this popcorn, it's like, cinnamon," Georges says, smiling as I come downstairs.

I take a small handful and shove it all in my mouth. "Mm, that is actually really good. I'm gonna get some nog, anyone wants anything while I'm in the kitchen?"

"Cookies!" Theo cheers.

"I'm good," Georges smiles.

Peter stands up. "I want a whole ass plate of leftovers, so I'll just come with you."

I smile as the two of us walk into the kitchen. Before I can do anything, Peter grabs my hips and gently pushes me against the counter. I giggle, wrapping my arms around his neck and standing on my tip toes so I can sort of be at his height. He smiles, gently slipping on hand up my shirt and running it across the hair on my stomach, the short little happy trail that started growing just this July.

"Can I kiss you?" Peter asks softly.

I nod dreamily, letting him lean down and gently kiss my lips. I gently tug on the small baby hairs on the back of his neck, running my tongue across his teeth, telling him to stop teasing. He complies, opening his mouth a bit more and letting my tongue slip in. The hand that isn't lightly touching my lower stomach ends up on the back of my thigh, lifting me up and offering support so the balls of my feet don't get too tired.

"Everyone thought you'd, I dunno, nevermind," he starts, smiling as we pull away.

"No, wait, what were you gonna say?" I ask, giggling and pouring myself a drink and grabbing some cookies for Theo.

"Everyone thought you'd sort of end up with Georges, really. Including me. I just, I thought y'all would get together and do some shit, you know, be exclusive or whatever," Peter explains. "Hell, you did too. You moaned his name once while we were fucking."

I groan. "Can we just, like, pretend that never happened?"

Peter smiles, piling some stuffing onto his plate. "We can."

"And as for Georges," I start, my voice low so only Peter can hear. "He is my best friend. He always has been, but he's a prick. I love the guy like a brother, and I can forgive him for whatever he does, but I'm not about to be with someone who has made me feel like shit about myself on multiple occasions. You have never done that. So, while Georges was at one point an option, you were as well. Do you feel intimidated or jealous when I'm with him?"

Peter shakes his head. "Nah, baby boy. We ain't dating right now. You do what you want with your other dudes. I'll be here, ready for any casual hookup. And when you ready to for real settle down, I'll be here for that too."

I smile, pecking his lips and stealing a potato off his plate. "You're too good."

"I know," he chuckles. "Can I ask you some real shit though?"

I nod.

"Did you ever tell Georges about what happened?" Peter mumbles quietly, taking my hand in his.

I shake my head. "Please, he would react terribly. Besides, I don't need to tell him. I don't owe it to him. You know, Theo knows, my parents know, and those are the only people who need to know." I lean up and peck his lips.

"Did you ever, I dunno, like, are you coping with that?" Peter mumbles, pushing a few flyaways behind my ear.

I shrug. "I've had some panic attacks, a few breakdowns, had to miss a couple days of school, but, you know, shit's getting better. Could be worse. I'm just glad I'm here with you, so please can I just be here with you? Let's go watch a movie, do something, I dunno."

Peter smiles and puts his arm around me. "Yeah, let's go watch a movie."

We make our way back into the living room. Peter sits down on the couch, and I place myself next to him after handing Theo her cookies. As more people start coming in and Washington starts the movie, It's A Wonderful Life, Georges sits on my other side and Theo next to Georges. Everyone else finds some sort of area in the room lie down or sit down. Eliza and Maria are cuddled up on an armchair. My pop is sitting next to Lafayette and Herc on the floor. Martha and Washington are on a loveseat, while James and Thomas are on the floor in front of my pop, Herc, and Lafayette.

The movie starts and I'm glued to the silver screen. Sure, the movie is a saddening bore, and I've seen it ten times or more, but I do love it. Old films have always been my favorite. Casablanca is something that I've always been in love with. Peter hates old films and I know it, but he'll sit through them, as long as he has food.

"Eat," he whispers, bringing a green bean to my mouth.

I laugh and open my mouth, biting it off his fork.

"More," he whispers again, this time some stuffing on his fork.

"Peter, my stomach is about to blow up," I chuckle.

"Fine," he says childishly, defeated. He takes a bite of the stuffing and then sets his plate on the table next to him. He scratches the middle of his chest, then lets out a long yawn, stretching his hands up. A few seconds later, they come down one arm on the armrest of the chair, the other around me.

"You are insane," I say, chuckling.

He gives me a hurt look. "Let me be cute."

I roll my eyes and cuddle closer to him, grabbing a blanket and pulling it over us. I pull my legs up onto the couch and curl up so I'm sitting on my hips, leaning against Peter with my eyes half open. My hand, under the blanket, goes to his thigh, where I gently tap my fingers.

"Hey, Pip," I hear a voice say.

I look over at Georges. "Yes, Frenchie?"

"Can I lean against your legs?" He asks.

I nod and he puts a pillow in the crook of my legs and places his head there. It feels like a big cuddle train, which I don't mind. Physical affection is my favorite. My hand on Peter's thigh trails up and sips under the waistband of his sweatpants, then gently begins touching the soft hair right above the start of his dick. Peter looks unphased as I gently curl the black soft hair in my fingers. It's just something to do, to mess with.

A small sound escapes his throat when accidentally tug it a bit harder than I meant. I look up at him. "Did that hurt?"

He nods, chuckling at me. "That's a very soft area, of course, it hurt."

I chuckle and tug it again, causing him to bring his hand to mine.

"You're so mean," he complains.

I pout up at him and the go back to gently running my fingers over the hair, Peter's hand still on mine. The movie goes by, people one by one going up to bed until it's just Peter, Georges, Theo and I, all left on the couch. Theo is sleeping, Georges is sleeping, Peter and I are quietly laughing to The Griswold Family Christmas. My hand is still right above Peter's groin, and Peter's hand is still right above mine. I sigh, leaning into him, his hand on my hip. It moves up my shirt and begins tracing my ribs. I can tell it's more of an absent-minded action, but it makes me uncomfortable to be able to feel the outline of my bone through my skin.

"Could you not touch my ribs?" I ask quietly. "It just, it makes me uncomfortable."

Peter instantly moves his hand. "No need to explain, I got you."

I smile. "Thank you. Hey, I'm kinda hungry, do you wanna go into the kitchen and get some food?"

Peter nods, standing up and causing me to fall onto the couch. "Always."

I slip off the couch, making sure Georges didn't wake up since he was leaning against my legs. Peter and I quietly walk into the kitchen and I sit on the counter while Peter gets out two plates and begins to get some food. I watch him carelessly, smiling as he sets the plates next to me on the counter and stands between my legs. My arms go around his neck and he leans in for a kiss, but I tilt my head back so his lips catch my neck. He seems to have no problem with this, and instantly begins nibbling and kissing the sensitive skin.

"You're wonderful," Peter mumbles, licking an extra sensitive spot and bringing a quiet sound from the back of my throat. His hand gently snakes up my thigh and begins rubbing my dick, making another sound escape from my mouth.

"Daddy," I whisper quietly.

Peter grinds against me and begins kissing my neck a bit rougher. "Are we, are we doing this? Like, do you wanna go all the way? Partially the way? Just grind for a bit?"

"Take me," I whisper.

"Oh, god, please, could I be selfish with your body?" Peter asks.

I nod. "I'm all yours."

He pulls me off the counter, pulling down my pants so he can touch me fully. I step out of them, giving him better access to me. I find myself tugging at his sweatpants while we kiss, pulling them down and gently touching his dick. I think about to how I just got off my no sex punishment for getting chlamydia a while ago but haven't had the time to hook up with anyone since then. Wow, I haven't gone this long without sex in a long time.

"Peter, baby," I mumble, giving his dick a small tug.

"Yeah?" He answers, kissing the corner of my mouth as he lifts my tee shirt over my head so I won't get anything on it.

"It's, it's been a little bit, you're gonna have to prep me. Just, get me used to the feelings again, darling," I tell him.

He nods, then pulls away to stick two fingers in his mouth. We don't have condoms, but I know he's clean, and as of a few weeks ago, I am clean as well, so there's nothing to worry about. I do gasp a little as he pushing his fingers into me, forgetting how good the sensation was when it wasn't your own hand pushing into you while a gay cuckold plays on your laptop in front of you. Porn is good, Peter is better.

"Wow, you got fucking tight," Peter groans, scissoring me.

"Ah, fuck," I mumble as he brushes my prostate. Both of us have to be quiet since we're in the kitchen, but we can do that. We've done it before. I think some of the best sex stories are the ones where we've been really close to getting caught. Over the summer, me and a couple of Peter's friends were spending the night at his place and while they faced the TV and played video games, I quietly rode Peter, though it looked like I was just sitting on his lap.

Peter spits on his hand and rubs it on his dick. That, and a mix of fresh precome. Because I'm too short to have him push in from here, I stand on my tip toes, one arm around his neck, the other holding me upright on the counter as he jerks off his dick a bit more, making sure it's hard enough. Then, he grabs my hips and lifts me up more so he can get a good angle. I wrap my legs around his waist and rely completely on him to hold me up.

"Fuck," I mumble as he begins pushing into me. This feels a bit like my first time, but not quite as uncomfortable. Peter slowly pushes in, kissing my neck and face as I bite my lip and try not to cry out. Thankfully, I feel him bottom out, and for a second, we just stay like that. He's whispering small things in, in, it's not French. It's not Spanish either.

"Wewe ni mkamilifu sana," Peter mumbles, kissing my forehead.

"What does that mean?" I ask quietly.

"Oh, mister fluent in French and Latin and Spanish and god knows what else doesn't know how to speak Swahili?" Peter teases.

"Your dick is literally inside of me right now," I deadpan.

He laughs. "I said you were perfect."

I roll my eyes. "Just fuck me already. You're making me want to monter un cactus. Au moins j'aurais enfin de l'action."

"You hurt me," Peter complains, smiling. He does begin moving though, and God damn am I thankful for that. It stings a bit since he's going in raw, but it also feels crazy good. I really have to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying anything out loud. My whole ass body just feels so great. Like, this is a Christmas highlight all the way. Sure, my shoulder hurts a bit from holding me up, but that's totally worth it.

"Ah, daddy, I'm close," I mumble after a solid ten minutes of quiet and amazing sex. Peter not and begins touching me, causing me to tilt my head back and hit it against the marble countertop. He moves his hand faster and his thrusts get sloppier.

"Fuck, Pip," he mutters.

"Ah, daddy, fuck, please," I whisper, feeling an orgasm build up. Suddenly, I can feel Peter come inside me, he doesn't stop thrusting though, doesn't stop moving his hand, not until I finish, getting the gooey white substance all over my stomach. Peter gently pulls out and grabs a paper towel, wiping off my stomach.

"Wait, what about the stuff in your..." he trails off. "Does it just stay in there?"

"What goes in must come out," I joke.

"Turn around, let me take care of that," Peter chuckles.

Smirking, I turn around and lean over the counter, moaning lightly as Peter begins eating my ass. It's a nice finish to great sex, letting him clean me out. His tongue is soft and gentle, and when he's done, he stands up and leans against me, his chest pressed to my back, then pulls me into a kiss, letting his come drip into my mouth. I moan, smiling.

"We were supposed to just be getting food," I mumble.

"This was so much better though, and we can still eat food," Peter jokes, pointing to our long forgotten plates.

I groan and lean down, getting my clothes on. "That sounds great."

When I'm finished getting dressed, I sit back on the counter and grab my plate. Peter stands between my legs and we begin eating, smiling lightly. I gently rub my foot against his leg, shoving my mouth full of stuffing and green beans.

"Oh, that's hot," Peter chuckles as the gravy drips down my chin.

"Oh, fight me. Anyone who can eat sexy doesn't exist in real life," I point out.

Peter takes a napkin and dabs my chin. "That's true." He plants a small kiss on my lips. "You should come to the choir concert in January. Theo is gonna be in it, Goerges is gonna be in it." He pauses, smirking. "I'm performing a solo song."

"That sounds super domestic," I joke, leaning back a bit.

"Oh? Does that break some kind of rule?" Peter chuckles. "Because God knows you have a million different rules that are gonna kill a brother one day. Like, for real, how many you got? Sixty? Seventy?"

"Fifty-four, all very different and specific," I tell him. "It is a rare occasion that I break a rule, and Peter Jefferson, I have broken so many in the past few weeks, just for you."

Peter smiles cheekily. "Well don't I just feel special. For real though, will you come? It's an excuse to get out of the house, we can make out in the dressing room and make other straight guys horny. We'll get milkshakes afterword and share a booth, be cute, take selfies. How does that sound?"

I smile. "And what should I wear to this occasion?"

Peter stops, thinking for a second. "Tiny booty shorts and a crop top."

I laugh, pushing his chest. "For real though."

He shrugs. "Something nice."

"Could I wear..." I pause. "My red plaid skinny jeans with a white button up and a black tie? Would that be acceptable?"

"Maybe you can take out all your piercings since my grandma is possibly gonna be there," Peter teases, gently touching my eyebrow ring.

I scoff. "If you want me, then you got me, piercings and all. And isn't your grandma like, really deeply in denial about the fact that your dads are together?"

Peter nods. "She is. For real though, you think you'll ever get rid of all this metal? Not that I don't think it's hot, because it is, and your tongue ring is like, good for sucking dick."

I shrug. "Probably not if I get my dream job."

Peter gasps. "It's eleven-ten! Just in time!"

I groan. "What are you gonna do? Put a picture of your food on snap?"

Peter shakes his head and then holds up his phone to me. "If your name is Phillip and you're super handsome come on put em up!" He sings.

I smile and cover my face, giggling. "You're such a dork!"

"Merry Christmas, gorgeous," Peter chuckles, his phone still up. He puts it down and takes a second to post it, adding the time filter and then a caption that is just a yellow heart emoji and my tag. I get the notification on my phone, feeling it buzz from my pocket.

"Why a yellow heart?" I ask. "I mean, like, out of all the hearts."

Peter shrugs, going to the counter and grabbing a tray of cookies. "Yellow is a happy color, and you are someone who makes people happy."

"Are you always hungry?" I chuckle as Peter shoves three cookies in his mouth.

He nods, swallowing. "I play sports year round. Football, basketball, track, wrestling, and I go to the gym five times a week. I did the math, and with my current lifestyle, yes, including the sex, I burn over four thousand calories a day, so I need to eat a lot to keep my muscle." He takes another bite of his food. "So yes, I am always hungry."

"Okay, what do you on average eat in a day?" I ask, curious.

Peter shrugs. "I start out with a protein shake, an omelet, bacon, tomato juice. For lunch, I have usually, uh, I dunno, a burrito, or like, a double helping of what my dad cooked since my baba doesn't cook that often. Then after school I carb load and go do my thing, then I come home and, like, you know those trays of food they provide at Costco? Like, the premade pasta or whatever for families?"

I nod.

"I put away one of those, and then dinner as well," Peter states. "And there's always room for dessert, or my sweet little Phillip sitting on my face."

"How are you not obese?" I deadpan.

"Please, I barely break even with the food I eat. I gotta make sure I stay in my weight class for wrestling," Peter goes on. "You know, you oughta spend a few days eating what I do. It'll help you gain weight real fast."

I nod. "That actually sounds nice. I'm getting sick of looking and feeling like this. Shit, I'm cold and boney, sweaty when I'm not even hot, and I get dizzy spells. Plus, I look like a cancer patient or something."

Peter shoves a cookie in my mouth. "In this house, we are well fed."

I pat my stomach, taking a bite of the cookie. "Don't worry, I for sure gained some weight tonight. My stomach is packed to the brim."

"Can I ask you something?" Peter says quietly.

I nod.

"You, you just, you seem uncomfortable with your pop right now and comfortable with your dad, and it's not my place to judge or say anything about what's going on, but I just, can I get your reasoning behind it? Because I would assume it would be the other way around, but I don't know, I've never been in this situation before." Peter looks down, gently placing his hand on my knee and tapping his fingers.

I shrug. "My dad has been there more for me over these past few months. Yeah, he did something wrong, but he's working really hard to fix his mistake. I just, I feel like my pop doesn't give him enough credit for it. And yeah, as Eliza said, my pops is the only one really picking fights anymore. It's not, it's not like I'm uncomfortable around him per se, but I just, I feel distant from him. Like, he and I were really close before all of this happened. Now, now it's like, he's just, he's in his own world, doing his own thing, and I'm scrambling to keep my head above water. My dad, he's just, he's done some messed up shit, and there's no doubt I'm mad at him, but he's trying, and that's more than I can say for my pops."

Peter nods, gently taking my hand. "I'm sure things'll change, love."

I groan. "I know they will, I just don't know when."

"Come on," Peter mumbles, gently pulling me down from the counter and leading me into the living room. We go to the bay window and he sits down and pulls me between his legs so we can watch the outdoors. Peter is only half sitting up, so I end up curling up with my head on his chest, watching outside. Peter gently touches my hair, humming a Christmas song as the both of us begin to doze off. My last thought before I fall asleep is how happy I am to be in Peter's arms, his fingers running through my hair.

"Wake up you goofies!" I hear a loud voice say.

I groan and sit up, or try to sit up. Peter is quick to pull me back down and hook his leg over mine so I have no chance to escape. Deciding I don't mind, I keep my eyes closed. "Why should I get up?"

"Because it's Christmas!" The voice says.

I shoot up, ignoring Peter's groans of protest. "Christmas!"

The voice, also known as Theo picks me up and hugs me, smiling. "Finally, after three hundred and sixty-four days of torture, we can celebrate Christmas!"

"You've been celebrating Christmas since, like, July," Aaron mumbles, smiling. He pulls me into a hug. "Merry Christmas, kid."

It seems that everyone is in the living room. Georges is still somehow asleep, curled up on the couch, while Peter slowly sits up, running his hand over his hair. I make my way around the living room, hugging and kissing the cheeks of everyone. My pop hugs me extra tight, kissing my forehead. I smile and look around, trying to find my dad or aunt Peggy. I don't see either of them. It's eight thirty and my dad said he'd be there by now. Are they still coming?

"Okay, should we open presents?" Washington asks.

"Not yet!" I exclaim, "we have to wait for my da- aunt Peggy!"

"Aunt Peggy? She's missed plenty of holidays, one Christmas morning isn't gonna kill her," Angelica laughs.

"No, we really should wait for her," I insist, knowing she's going to be showing up with my dad. I don't want to start Christmas until he's here. I've never had a Christmas without him, and I never want to. I want to spend this holiday with y family, no matter how fucked up it is right now.

Thomas makes eye contact with me, then slowly mouths 'your dad.' Swallowing hard, I nod, letting him know that that's who I'm really waiting for. There's a moment where everyone else's voices are drowned out and it's just Thomas and I. Thomas nods, then smiles and looks to everyone.

"Come on!" He says. "Pegs should be here soon, and because she's missed so many holidays, we should wait for her! I want to see what crazy thing she got my kid this time. We gotta wait for Peggy."

"Thomas is right," Martha sticks up. "I'll go get some cookies if Peter didn't eat them all last night. Don't think I noted when I came down for water that there were significantly less."

Peter laughs, standing next to me and placing his arm around me. "Don't come at me like this Martha. We're supposed to be tight. Like Snoop Dogg and Martha Stewart."

I laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"Georges!" Theo yells loudly, laughing as he shoots up and falls off the couch. I begin laughing too, watching him try to untangle himself from the blankets. He's failing miserably, obviously getting more and more confused and distressed and the soft cotton somehow continues to entrap him.

"Georges, here," Lafayette says, smiling as he helps his lanky son get untangled. Lafayette gently brushes some of Georges' hair out of his face. "Merry Christmas, mon fils."

"Love you, papa," Georges smiles.

"Love you too," Lafayette replies, helping Georges up.

"George, sweetie, Alex and Peggy are here, can you get the-"

"I got it!" I yell, walking quickly to the door. I open it and in falls my dad and Peggy, holding boxes varying in all shapes and sizes. I laugh as I catch a few falling from my dad's arms, leading them to the tree. My dad and Peggy set the boxes down and I instantly hug my dad. He hugs me back, gently kissing my head.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbles.

"Merry Christmas, dad," I whisper.

"Let me get a look at my nephew!" Peggy exclaims, pushing my dad aside. She holds me at arm's length and looks me up and down. "Well aren't you just a grown adult now? Look at your face! Is that hair I see? Speaking of hair, my god, you have so much of it." She runs her hands over my head. "So thick, like the French and the Kenyan came together and made that hair." Her accent, which is Russian accent now, since she's been spending time in the Slavic countries, rings through the room. "So much taller than your dad now."

"Hey!" My dad says.

"And is this Theo?" Peggy laughs, embracing the girl. "So sturdy, like the woman in Africa. Look at these legs. Could crush a skull with them. And Phillip's hair does not hold a match to yours. In fact, nothing should hold a match to your hair." She turns to Georges. "And look at this! So much like his papa!" She begins fussing with his hair and face. "Your skin is so dark, even in the winter! So pretty." She turns to the taller boy with his arm around me. "And Peter! My goodness! You have the broadness of a bull from Spain! So strong! Such nice hair! Look at those eyes, so dark and pretty, and my gosh, you are so tall! You got your dads height and your baba's skin. So pretty!"

"Peggy, you freak, come here and hug your sister," Eliza chuckles.

Peggy smiles and jumps into Eliza's arms. "It is so wonderful to see you! You must come up longer than just a few weeks in the summer."

"Come up where Peggy?" Eliza asks. "You, like, you live in huts and hostels!"

Peggy smiles. "Just come up." She turns to Angelica. "Angie."

Angelica gives a curt nod.

Peggy smiles again as she goes to see Herc and Laf. "Hercules! Still so big and strong! Also, I've heard about your fashion company in Africa! I'm so proud of you!" She turns to the French man. "And Lafayette, so early in the morning and yet you have flawless eyeliner and perfect highlight on! So good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, mon petite," Lafayette chuckles.

"And Thomas and James! Still such yin and yangs! James, baby, you look so healthy! Look at your cute tummy!" Peggy pokes it, bringing a giggle from the man. "So cute!" She turns to Thomas. "All that hair is still there? And it has been growing! My goodness! Will you ever cut it? Or will you be such a wonderful magenta puff ball for the rest of your years?"

"Always, Peggy," Thomas chuckles.

Peggy turns to Aaron and Dosia. "So pretty, as always. Dosia, I love your hair like this. Is it all yours?"

"All mine," Dosia states proudly.

Peggy squeals. "The shrinkage is nonexistent! It goes down to your chest! Oh, you look so adorable! I wish I could have long hair, but it gets in my face." Peggy runs her hands over her short and curly hair. "And Aaron, so uptight, let me see your smile! It's so beautiful."

Aaron smiles, gently kissing the girls forehead. "It's good to see you, Peggy."

Ignoring the fact that my dad and pop are obviously very awkward, she pushes them together and looks them up and down. "John, your hair is so clean and crisp! Will you ever grow it out again? I miss all those curls! Oh, but you still have those gorgeous freckles. Phillip looks so much like you, except younger, and scrawnier. Like his dad. Speaking of his dad..." Peggy looks over and messing up my dad's hair. "I had time to catch up with this funny man in the car, but I just want to remind him how happy I am to see him."

"Well, now that Peggy is here, it's time to open the presents!" Thomas announces. We all sit down on the floor, me next to Peter with one of my legs over his, smiling as Peggy tosses us the presents. My dad is on the other side of me, smiling as he gets handed my present to him, which is poorly wrapped. You can tell what's from me because it's all poorly wrapped.

Christmas goes by happily, no one fighting, no one being rude. Peggy and Angelica ignore each other, like my dad and pop. No one starts shit, and no one continues shit. Eventually, we do all pass out in a food-induced coma on the floor, wrapping paper all around us, gifts surrounding us. As I fall asleep on Peter's chest, I smile to myself, happy to be where I am.


	27. Alex doesn't want to need an excuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reference in here to one of my favorite bands and if you spot it and comment where it is, I will reply with a little bit of poetry for you

/Alex/

It is raining on this dreary January day. With December over, the kids back in school, and the only thing to look forward to being summer, which is five months away, it seems everyone in the office has been hit with a slight depressive episode. This, of course, means Monroe is thriving. I'm almost one hundred percent sure the man feeds off of our misery. So, as I sit next to Burr in the break room, James and Lafayette on the other side of us, all of us staring glumly at the papers in the middle of the table while we pick at our food, Monroe seemingly skips into the kitchen, humming to himself one tune or another.

"Good morning, blokes, what's with the long faces?" He asks, knowing damn well what is with the long faces.

"I fucked your mom last night and it wasn't as satisfying as I expected," I state, starting over at him with an annoyed expression on my face.

Lafayette snorts.

"That's not appropriate for the workplace, Hamilton," Monroe states, coming closer. "Would be a shame if I were to go tell your daddy about that."

All at the same time, James starts coughing, I pull out my mini stapler and staple my hand, Lafayette says something about smudged eyeliner, and Burr picks up his phone. I grab the papers, the staple still in my hand, and the four of us exit the break room and go to Burr's office. James clears his throat as he sits down, but I stay standing, trying to get the staple out of the soft skin of the heel of my palm.

"I have tweezers, hold on," Lafayette states, grabbing his back from where he left it on Burr's floor and coming over to me. He swats my non-stapled hand away and pulls out tweezers and a band-aid, then takes my stapled hand in his. "You know, you have to stop doing this. You can't just staple your hand whenever you want to get out of something."

"I don't do it for everything," I explain. "Just Monroe. Blood makes him squeamish so I know he won't stick around if I have a staple in my hand."

Lafayette chuckles. "Eventually, he's going to get used to it and you're going to have to like, stab yourself with that god awful letter opener you insist on keeping." He tugs the staple a bit, causing me to wince. "That shit looks like a knife."

I laugh. "Wouldn't that be a sight to see. I'll text you when it's about to happen so you can come and watch me stab myself. It would be, how the French say, diverissement, no?"

Lafayette looks up at me, his face bare of emotion. "I wouldn't want to watch you get stabbed, Alexander." He pulls out the staple finally and puts a bandaid over it. "Maybe a month ago, but, no, not anymore."

I bite my lip but nod, sitting down and setting the papers there. We begin talking about the case, but it's slow paced and we're all a little spaced out. It's a dreary day, in a dreary month, in a dreary year. Finally, Burr mumbles 'fuck it' under his breath and stands up.

"I'm going home," he announces. "I do not wish to be here anymore, so I'm gonna go home, take a warm bath, eat some soup, and watch a movie with my wife."

"I'm gonna go cuddle with my husband on his office couch," James states, standing up as well. "Burr has the right idea."

Lafayette nods. "The perfect idea. Herc is sewing a wedding dress at the house, so I want to go watch him and read. Good day."

I stand. "I have a few more cases to work on, so, I'll go do that. Have a good afternoon, guys. Laf, say hi to Herc for me. Burr, tell the Theodosias that I hope they're well. James, I'll most likely see you and Thomas one more time today."

The rest of them nod as I leave, heading back to my office. I sit down at my desk and stare out at the rain tapping against the window. Storms haven't really bothered me in years. It took some therapy and some wild coping mechanisms, but I'm okay. They can affect my dreams sometimes, but I'm fine as long as I'm awake. Maybe I'll get a little jumpy, but I don't go into any long drawn out PTSD ridden flashbacks, and if I do, I have medication for that.

Thunder cracks and I groan, setting my head, which has the start of a headache forming in it, on my desk. I feel tired and groggy. I could use another Christmas. Everyone could use another Christmas. I could use a husband right now. I wish I could just get up and go, put on some puppy dog eyes for John, begging him to come home. He'd come, and we'd shower together, then cuddle up and watch a movie. Phillip would come home and John would make dinner, we'd all sit and eat, then have a lazy night. Instead, I'm stuck at work as a migraine progresses to get at me. I end up taking some aspirin and lying down on my couch, not able to sleep but happy to rest my eyes.

Thunder cracks again and I jump a bit. The roads are gonna be real icy since it's been an exceptionally warm winter. I know I'm going to have to really focus when I drive because this is the time of year in which I get into accidents. I swear, I usually get into one at least every other year. I don't really feel like it this year. I don't want the stress of paying off that bill. John and I are surprisingly not up to our necks in debt. We both got scholarships to college, which means that we don't have to pay full price. We bought our Manhattan townhouse when the economy crashed, so the price was low. I make a lot, and John makes a lot, so we can easily pay for things. Phillip has done a lot more research into being financially independent than John and I should have, so I assume the kid is gonna be living debt free in the slums of whatever country he decides on staying in.

I grab my phone out of my pocket and begin scrolling through my contacts. I almost click on Eliza's but then remember that she's probably at work. She went back upstate after New Years so now she's focusing on her therapy job, Maria is doing her art. I continue scrolling up and down through my contacts until I finally click on the one name that has been glaring at me every pass. Decorated with the same emojis and adorning the same nickname it has since the summer, it taunts me. It teases me. Regardless, I click the call button and wait. One ring goes by and I begin to regret my decision. Another ring and I decide that I'm not gonna hang up. A third ring and I begin to think that my call is going to go unanswered, which is more pathetic than actually calling. Before the fourth ring though, I hear the familiar click of our lines being connected to each other.

"What do you want?" John asks, his tone sharp.

"I just..." I pause, thinking as I throw my arm over my eyes, trying to block out the uncomfortable, almost neon white office lights. You would think for such a nice building, Washington would pay to change the lighting. Regardless, I can deal.

"You just what?" John urges, snapping me out of my thought.

"I wanted to hear your voice," I say honestly.

"So?" John sighs.

"When did that not become a good excuse?" I chuckle bitterly. "It's been a rough first half of the day, I wanted to hear my husband's voice."

I can tell he's about to say something, but then he stops, pausing, thinking before he speaks. "What's rough about it?" He asks gently.

I sigh. "It's a depressing stormy day, Burr, James, Lafayette and I are working on the most depressing case, I had to staple my hand already because Monroe is being a dick, and I just, I just wanted to hear your voice."

John chuckles. "You can't keep stapling your hand, Alex. Eventually, the scar tissue is going to build up and you won't even be able to get a staple through."

"Well, Lafayette suggested I use the letter opener your grandma left me to just stab myself, so I'll call you from the ambulance or something," I say humorously.

John sighs gently. "You sound like you have a headache."

"Aw, you know me so well," I smile. "I took some aspirin. It's just the day. You know."

"I know," John confirms. "You should go home. You really don't sound very good. Are you getting sick?"

I shrug, changing the side of my face the phone is on. "Maybe. I'll be fine here, though. I haven't taken a sick day since, God since we all had the flu. That was years ago, Phillip was only like, twelve."

John laughs. "That was such a mess. Like, Phillip would be throwing up and you would be upstairs with a lot of literal shit going on, and I would be like, passed out. Eventually, we just had to call someone and ask them to take care of us. Angelica and her husband are forever the MVP's of the Hamilton household."

"They really are," I agree. "How's work going? Any baby penguins?"

"No, sadly not. We don't get a lot of penguins anyway, usually, it's just when they can't be treated anywhere else," John mumbles. "No, we've been doing a lot of paperwork today, I have to do PT in a bit with a dolphin who just got a prosthetic. That'll be nice, but the water is gonna be cold as hell. We're keeping the little guy until summer rolls around."

"Our jobs are such polar opposites," I joke, pushing some hair out of my face. "Like, you're taking care of dolphins and playing with baby otters and I'm in court defending the person who committed a double homicide. No wonder Phillip is so weird the only things we talk about at the dinner table is murder and baby fish."

"Phillip is not weird!" John defends, chuckling. "He's just, he's eccentric."

"That kid is going to be a freelance photographer with an English major and a face tattoo," I state, the smile apparent in my voice.

"There's nothing wrong with face tattoos," John points out.

"When you can look me in the eye and say that with a straight face, then I'll believe you," I chuckle. "I mean, look, we got tatted up in college and as younger adults, but we're older now. I don't see myself getting a new tattoo anywhere in the near future. All my tattoos are easily covered by a suit anyway, so they don't matter. But face tattoos are totally different. Like, what if you get a three-titted alien tattooed on your face and then go to a job interview?"

"Lucky for Phillip, freelance photography isn't exactly a suit and tie job. I could see him with a face tattoo, just not something wild. He's artistic, you know he'll think of something nice." I can hear John take a bite of something on the other line, which reminds me that I'm hungry.

"Why are we discussing the face tattoo our child hasn't shown any interest in getting?" I deadpan, rolling my eyes.

"Well, you do know he wants to get tattoos. I mean, the kid has a subscription to Inked magazine and every time he sees a good one, he cuts it out and hangs it up on his wall," John continues. "He has good taste at least. No three titted aliens."

"I blame you for this," I accuse. "You and your art and raising our kid to like art and getting all those tattoos and being artsy and exposing him to fine arts and all of our artist friends and taking him to the Met for his birthday."

John laughs. "Sorry I wanted our child to have culture." He pauses for a moment. "Speaking of Phillip's birthday, that's coming up."

"Shit, that is. What does he want?" I ask, knowing that I suck at buying gifts.

"Uh, I don't know. He got a lot of the stuff he wanted at Christmas, but I know he loves cash, art supplies, nice pens, poetry, oh, and socks. Loves socks. Every day socks to special fuzzy socks, I don't think it matters to him."

"Okay, so money, art supplies, pens, poetry, and socks. Uh, I'll get him fuzzy socks, you can get regular socks," I start.

"You get him inking pens, regular pens, and mod podge, I'll get him Copic markers and some canvases," John goes on. "For books, let's just not make sure we're getting him two of each, alright? Uh, what do you think he'll want to do?"

"Probably same thing we've been doing for the past few years, just dinner with the gang, come back to our place and eat cake, watch movies, and then go to sleep, you know? But we can ask him. Is he at school right now?" I mumble aloud.

"Yes, Alex, I do believe our son is at school at one in the afternoon," John chuckles.

"Right, right. Um, I'll ask him when I get home," I mumble.

"Alex, I gotta ask you something," John says. "Something I've been meaning to ask you since Thanksgiving."

"Yeah?" I reply, counting the tiles on the ceiling.

"All those, all through, when you-" He pauses. "Those pictures you gave me. How long did you, did you... did you know when we were in college?"

I'm quiet for a second, then I speak. "Yeah, I knew."

There's a long pause. "All those breakdowns. All those, all the times you would just, you would lock yourself in the bathroom and I could hear you crying. You, those were-"

"Yeah, they were," I answer, still staring at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," John says quietly.

"Don't be," I mumble, sitting up. "If I wanted you to be sorry about it, I would've said something twenty years ago. It doesn't matter. You stopped."

"But, I, I just-"

I cut him off. "Let's never have this conversation on our own. Maybe when we go to couples therapy or whatever, but, just, not right now. I can't, we can't, I'm not going to fight with you over this. I don't want to fight over this. So, let's just drop it."

John pauses, then sighs. "Couples therapy?"

I chuckle, lying back down on the cold leather. "I would hope so. When you're ready, we got some shit we really need to, we just, if you want to fix this, then we can't do it ourselves, and we can't do it with like, one of our friends. Even Eliza picked a side. We need a non-partisan party mediating us."

"I can't believe after twenty years of marriage we're gonna go to couples therapy," John laughs. "That's just, I mean, that's so not like us."

"Yeah, well let's hope it works quickly because I'm gonna have to make a chiropractic appointment if I sleep on that couch any longer," I joke.

"We have a guest room, you goof," John chuckles.

"My name is on the lease, I refuse to sleep in the guest room," I reply quickly, the joke apparent in my tone.

"Maybe you could come sleep with me," John suggests. "I mean, maybe soon."

I pause, not knowing what to say almost, then I sigh. "That would be nice. I, uh, well, I mean..." I take a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to tell him I miss him. "You know."

"I know," he replies.

There's a long silence and I close my eyes, sighing gently. My headache is still there, it's still raining, and I'm still tired as hell. I can't help but close my eyes and try not to groan as a sharp pain stabs through me. I feel almost nauseous, trying to swallow down whatever the pain is bringing up from my stomach.

"Well, my lunch break is almost over," John says, sighing.

"Oh, alright, well, I'll let you go then," I mumble, my eyes half closed.

He pauses for a second, thinking, then speaks. "I love you, Alexander."

I laugh, covering my mouth a bit as tears come to my eyes. "I, I love you too Johnathan Laurens Hamilton. I love you too."

"I hope your day gets better," he mumbles.

"Thank you," I reply.

"Alright, well, goodbye," he says, his voice sounding a little sadder than the beginning.

"Goodbye, dear," I whisper before hanging up. I roll on my side and close my eyes. I really don't mean to fall asleep, but it's just so exhausting, and I'm so bored and feeling so dull, that I just can't help but let myself slip into unconsciousness.

"Alex," a voice whispers.

I bolt up. "But a quick nap, sir!"

"Well, if my math is correct, you've been asleep for a good amount of time. Work ended a while ago. It's six o clock," Washington states, crouching next to the couch I'm on.

I groan, rubbing my head. "Fuck. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep, I just had a migraine and then I was talking to John and lying down and I usually only do that when I'm about to sleep and I think I'm getting sick and it's so depressing out and I-"

"Son, it's okay," Washington states, cutting me off. "I took a nap too, and honestly, it looks like you needed some sleep. Come on, let's get you home."

I nod and roll off the couch, gathering up everything and shoving it into my briefcase. I grab my wool blazer and slip it on before looking to my boss. "I could use another Christmas."

Washington laughs and puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk out of the building. "You and me, both. How is it in good old John town?"

I shrug as we step onto the elevator. "As I said, we called today, and it wasn't awful. Talked about Pip's birthday, how our days are going, marriage counseling briefly touched down on when he cheated on me, that was really it though. It was pretty light, not as bad as it could've been, you know?"

"Fuck, Phillip's birthday." Washington rubs the back of his neck as we step off the elevator. "Could I get him a car?"

"My son still refuses to drive!" I exclaim. "It's probably for the best though. Somehow, he and I share a lot of traits, though he is biologically John's kid. Anyway, John and I tried to teach the kid, and oh my god." I sigh. "He, uh, it's probably best if he just, you know, stays off the road. There's a reason I needed to put that company car in the shop for a week. How did the kid manage to hit the curb two different times, totally tear off the fender, then crash into a lamppost before finally giving up?" I start laughing. "He hit the curb the second time, and John and I were yelling for him to stop, and then he was yelling gibberish, and then we crashed. Luckily, we were only a block from the house, so we could just walk back."

"He's worse than you," Washington chuckles. "And that's saying something. You get into an accident once a year."

I laugh. "Me and Pip are tight like that."

Washington sighs as we reach our cars, holding our briefcases over our heads for rain protection. "Before I go, I have to tell you, I did send John a picture of you drooling and sleeping on the couch, so he won't interrogate you for coming home late. I also sent him a video of Thomas trying to balance cheerios on your head."

"You let Thomas balance cheerios on my head?" I ask, my eyes wide.

Washington nods. "I did. And then I thought it was very funny."

I groan. "Ugh, if it wasn't late and I wasn't tired, I would be mad. I do need to get home though. Goodbye, G Wash, stay happy grandpappy."

"I hate it when you kids call me that," Washington grumbles as he walks to his car.

"Tough titty said the kitty, but the milk's still good!" I call out, laughing. Before he can respond with some mix of sass and irony, I hop into my car and begin to drive. It doesn't take me long to get home, just the usual twenty minutes. I pull into the driveway, which is really just the side of the street, then get out, feeling tired. I walk up the stoop and into the living room, making an A-line to the couch and flopping down. Even after my impromptu nap, I'm still tired. I want to sleep for a hundred years.

"I see not much else happened after our phone call," John smiles, coming into the living room. "You tired?"

I let out a 'mph' sound from the pillow my face is buried in and try to find a blanket. I'm about to untangle one, but I'm suddenly scooped up from the couch and into John's arms. Since I'm still short and skinny, it's very easy for John to pick me up.

"Right to bed," John says, beginning to go up the stairs.

"Meh," I mumble, leaning my head against his chest. "'M not that tired."

"Alright," he says, obviously not buying it. He brings me into my office and sits me down on my makeshift bed. I'm about to lie down, but John begins to unbutton my dress shirt, slipping off my blazer.

"Sorry I didn't get home earlier," I mumble, still very tired.

"It's okay, Lex," John says, taking off my dress shirt and leaving me in my old white tee shirt. He lays me down and slips off my shoes, then my pants so I'm just in my boxers and socks from the waist down. He pulls a blanket over me and crouches down, pushing the hair out of my face as I cuddle up to a pillow.

"Pretty," I mumble, reaching my hand out and gently placing it on his cheek.

"I'm still not used to sleeping alone," he mumbles, placing his hand over mine.

"Good," I grumble. "Don't you ever get used to it. I'm a fucking, fucking snake." At this point, I'm drunk with sleep. "I'm gonna fucking slither my way back into our bed, like a slithery snake. Slither slither."

John laughs and kisses the palm of my hand, running his thumb over the bandaid. "I won't. Now, you get some sleep, killer. You're gonna need it." John kisses over the bandaid. "And stop doing this. Find something else. Don't, just, I mean-" John groans, then kisses up my wrist, up the sleeve of tattoos covering my scars.

I got a bunch of different scenes from Where The Wild Things Are tattooed on my skin because it was Phillip's favorite book. It was originally just some mountains covering the scars, but I covered them. Phillip's five-year-old self was ecstatic when I finally showed him the sleeve of imagery, depicting his favorite book.

"Mmf," John mumbles, kissing the crook of my elbow, then back down, over the small bumps of scar tissue, and finally back to the bandaid. It has Hello Kitty on it, which I just noticed. Of course, Laf carries around Hello Kitty band-aids, would it really be him if he didn't?

"I love your lips," I mumble, my eyes slowly closing.

John chuckles. "Go to sleep, Alex. I'll see you in the morning."

"Love you," I mumble.

"Love you too," John chuckles.

Storms. They don't affect me when I'm awake. I maybe get jumpy, but that's it. Of course though, sometimes, they just creep into my dreams. My therapist said it's just an effect of the PTSD, but honest to god, I think my subconscious just doesn't want me to ever really get over this. I swear to God, I get really sick of my subconscious' idea of fun because I never enjoyed waking up in a cold sweat. Especially on a cold couch.

The time is about three am when I shoot up to the sound of thunder, falling off the couch and hitting my head on the floor. Panic is in my chest as I try to scramble out of the blankets, though I'm not doing myself any good. My breathing quickens and my chest tightens as I try to escape the cotton. I hit my desk by accident, knocking off a lamp. It comes down with a loud crash. I'm still panicking, sweat dripping down my back. My eyes water up as I try to find something going on that isn't a total mess.

"Alex, Jesus Christ," I hear John's voice mumble. I see his figure move towards me, then quickly untangle me from the blankets. He instantly sits on the floor and scoops me up in his arms, holding me against his chest. I grip his hand and swallow hard, trying to calm down.

"Hey, hey," John whispers quietly. "From walking home and taking loads," he begins to sing gently. "Seeing shirts in evening clothes with you. From nervous touch and getting drunk, to staying up and waking up with you. Now we're slipping near the end, holding something we don't need. Oh, this delusion in our heads is gonna bring us to our knees. So, come on, let it go, just let it be, why don't you be you, and I'll be me? Everything that's broke, leave it to the breeze. Why don't you be you, and I'll be me?" He kisses the top of my head. "And I'll be me."

By now, I've calmed down. I'm gripping his hand, my eyes tightly closed. A silence falls over the office and for a while, we stay like that. I don't talk, he doesn't talk. We just bask in each other's warmth and silence. It's been a while since I've had a panic attack like that. I took my meds this morning, so I don't see why I should be this worked up over a dream.

"Wanna talk about it?" John asks quietly.

I shake my head. "No. Not really. I just want to go back to sleep."

"Alright," John says. We stand up, and I'm about to fall back onto the couch, but then John places his arm around my waist, guiding me into our room. I don't say anything, just let him pull me down onto the bed. He lies next to me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his chest pressed against my back. He places his hand down the front of my boxers, where it usually went when we slept together, and his other arm goes under the pillow. I place my hand over his, treasuring the feeling. He holds me closer, gently kissing my neck gently.

"I could get used to this," I joke.

"Good," John mumbles tiredly. "Get used to it. I miss you."

"I can't tell if you mean that. Like, if you want me to actually start sleeping here again or not," I mumble.

John pushes me onto my back, then props himself up above me. His hand traces across my lips, then he leans down and gently kisses me. I grip his arm as his hand gently holds my waist. He pulls away and lays down with his head on my chest, his body warm against mine. "Get used to it. Get used to sleeping in here. I mean it."

A small smile reaches my lips. "I can do that. You know I can do that."

John gently takes my hand. "Good. I love you, Alexander."

And with those final few seconds of consciousness I have, I couldn't be happier with the words that slipped through my lips. "I love you too."


	28. Peanut butter and pop tart sandwhiches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My meds are making my stomach hurt and making me feel nauseous but on the bright side I lost weight

/Phillip/

Peter was sitting with us at lunch. He wasn't edging at me to come with him and fuck in the back of his truck as he has in the past, no, he's just sitting there, one arm around me, listening to Theo rant while Georges does his math homework. She got into a fight with Franny last night and now just needs to rant for a bit. Peter is gently feeding me food from the huge bag he brought for his lunch. Man, the boy really does eat. Currently, he's feeding me a banana with peanut butter on it. Every minute or so he'll slowly bring it up to my mouth, a large glob of peanut butter slathered on the end. I'll take a bite, laughing a bit every time, and then he'll go to put more peanut butter on the banana.

"What do you think, Phillip?" Theo asks, sighing.

"I think you should talk to her," I state plainly, dipping my finger into Peter's peanut butter jar and taking a bite. "You need to communicate your feelings, tell her that totally brushing you off at that party hurt your feelings. It wasn't nice, but you can't just sit here and steam or nothing is going to change. Talk to her."

She nods. "You're right. Of course, you're right. Phillip is always right. Peter, keep that in mind. He is always right. He's like, fucking, fucking, fucking Hawking or some shit."

"Rest in peace," I mumble.

"Oh! Phillip!" Peter exclaims, going to his lunch duffle bag. "You know how I was telling you about the peanut butter and pop tart sandwiches I eat?"

"Oh no," I laugh.

"Well, turns out that unfrosted pop tarts are vegan, so I made you one! Of course, I didn't want you to have a frostingless pop tart, so I made some frosting. Well, my baba made the frosting, but still!" He says excitedly. I think Peter's love languages are gifts and quality time because he always gets really excited to spend time with me or to give me things. For Christmas, he got me books, a sweater, and the Chewy stuffed animal I wanted, and he was so excited to give it to me. He puts on a demeanor of being calm and collected, but he can be a little kid sometimes, and it's honestly adorable.

"Okay, let's try this calorie loaded monster," I say, laughing as he hands the sort of messy thing over to me. I take a bite, and for a second, all I can do is chew. Then I slowly tilt my head back and moan as the taste dancing over my tongue. "This is fucking good."

"I know right!" Peter says. "Our wrestling coach always makes us eat these. And our basketball coach. And our football coach."

I chuckle, taking another bite of the sandwich. "Well, this is certainly not gonna keep me as skinny as I am."

"Good," Theo says, throwing a grape at my head.

"I'm working on it, I'm working on it," I say, patting my stomach. "Went up from one hundred and twenty to one twenty-five, though, so we have improved."

"Yay!" Peter cheers.

"You only weight a hundred and twenty-five pounds?" Georges ask, his head shooting up. "That's like, extremely underweight."

I nod. "That's why I'm eating peanut butter and pop tarts."

"How did you even lose all that?" Georges continues.

Yikes, right in the prostate of pain. Well Georges, here's how I lost all that. It started when I found out that my dad cheated on my pop, which I found out through the internet. Let's see, that sent me into a spiral of depression only cured by sex, which is probably why I started hooking up with a guy almost six years older than me. Then, when I still had the motivation to eat, I couldn't even go to the kitchen because I would have to pass my parents fighting, which was something I didn't want to do. Now I'm trying to gain that back as I said, but it's hard when the five pounds I worked kinda hard to put on were just diminished and invalidated by you.

Peter sighs angrily.

"Bing bong, my dude, I have depression," I state, finger gunning at him with a corny smile on my face, though tears begin to form in my eyes. Thank god I have these wonderful circle glasses.

Georges gives me a weird look and is obviously about to say something, but Peter cuts in, quite obviously not wanting the words to leave Georges' mouth.

"Phillip, your birthday is coming up, did you know that?" He says.

I swallow hard and chuckle, taking another bite of my food, though my appetite is no longer anywhere to be found. "I did."

"What are you gonna do for it?" Theo asks, popping another grape in her mouth.

I shrug. "I, uh, I don't know. I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back." No, I won't.

I get up and leave, my stomach twisting and turning as I feel anxiety rise in my chest. I don't know why those things that Georges said triggered an anxiety attack, but oh boy, it's rearing its head like the ugly monster it is. I have to push open the door to the boys backroom and lock myself in the stall, leaning against the cold tile and running my hand through my hair, trying to get my breathing in order. I'm not doing a very good job at it though, and truthfully, I feel like I'm going to throw up. Then I do throw up. Everything I had eaten comes out into the toilet and a little on the floor, like a tidal wave of failure. Those were the first things I had eaten today, and it felt good. My stomach felt okay. But now I'm curled up on the floor, the taste of bile in my mouth, rocking myself as I try to calm down.

I pull out my phone and dial my pop's number, my hands shaking and my eyes watering as I press the numbers. It rings twice, all of the seconds seeming to creep by before he finally picks up. He always told me to call him if I was having an anxiety attack at school, and he would pick me up. Sometimes I can handle them, let them pass, but this one is bad.

"Hey, Pip, you okay?" He asks.

"I'm having an anxiety attack and I just threw up and I can't breathe and I don't know what to do and-"

He cuts me off. "Get your stuff, I'll be there in five minutes."

"Okay," I mumble.

"Deep breaths kid, I'm on my way," he says.

We hang up and for a second I stay there, trying to manage my breathing. Then, I quickly get up and walk down the halls to my locker, after washing my hands and mouth of the taste of bile. It's still lunch, so people are out and about. I grab my backpack, my jacket, and my hat. Before closing my locker though, I do remember my ratty old sketchbook that is almost filled up. I make my way to the office and quickly explain that my pop is coming to pick me up. They tell me to sit, but I don't have to wait long for him to walk through the door, changed out of his uniform, the curly hair he has sticking out of his hat. He quickly signs me out, then smiles softly at me.

"Come on, Pip, let's go home," he says.

I nod and get up, making my way out of the school and to his car. I toss my backpack in the back and sit down in the front seat, my breathing still shaky, my stomach still nauseous, my heart still pounding. My pop gets in but doesn't start driving. Instead, he gently takes my hand, looking over at me.

"Hey, hey, deep breaths," he whispers.

"I can't, I-" I'm cut off by my chest restricting a bit and a sob being pushed out from it. Tears roll down my cheeks as I shake.

"Hey, hey," my pop whispers. "It's okay. You need to breathe Phillip."

I grip his hand and try to swallow in gulps of air. It doesn't work at first, and only the sound of short gasps fill the car for a bit, but then, slowly, my chest expands and I begin to take in deeper breaths, until finally, I've calmed down enough to manage myself while my pop drives us home. I rub the fabric of my Lesbian Inc shirt between my thumb and forefinger.

"You wanna talk about what happened?" My pop asks gently.

I shrug.

"Did something trigger this?" He asks.

I nod.

"Do you know what triggered it?" He continues.

"Georges," I answer.

He pauses. "Georges? How, how did that happen?"

"He, uh, well." I pause. "If you haven't noticed by now, I've lost a lot of weight. I've just, I've been depressed and it's been hard to motivate myself to eat. Well, anyway, I gained back five pounds, which is good, because I needed it. I was at lunch with Peter, Theo, and Georges, and I told them that while Peter gave me a peanut butter pop tart sandwich, which is not half bad by the way, and, um, wel, Georges just kinda minimized that, made me feel like it wasn't enough. And, I mean, I know it's not enough. I know I need to gain more. But it was really hard to gain this back. Anyway, I just, I felt like shit and then I started to have an anxiety or panic attack, whatever it is, and then I called you."

My pop pauses, thinking, then turns to me. "I'm proud of you for gaining some weight back. You know, your dad and Peter's baba went through sort of the same thing. They both got really bad about eating. James was, god, in college, he was barely gracing a hundred pounds. Then your dad, oof, in junior year, he was, he was like, I dunno. It was messy. He was less than ten pounds away from double digits. I had to say fuck it and take him to the hospital. I helped him gain his weight back, and I don't mind helping you too. Just, you gotta tell me, does this root deeper? Is this more than you not having the motivation? Because if it something like that, don't be afraid to tell me. We can go to a nutritionist, talk about things, the whole nine yards."

"It doesn't root deeper," I state. "I want to gain this weight back. Like, I don't' like looking like this. I mean, I ate fucking peanut butter on pop tarts today. I'm trying. I really am. It's just, it's hard. It's so fucking hard." My voice cracks and I take my glasses off, wiping tears from my cheeks. "I don't like this."

"Hey," my pop whispers. "Hey, it's okay. I know it's hard, but you're not alone. You got me, you got your dad. There ain't no one here who isn't rooting for you, Phillip. Shit's gonna get better. I promise. We're looking up, right now. Things are improving."

"How so?" I mumble bitterly.

"Well, your dad and I have a marriage counseling appointment this Friday," my pop states. "We're gonna talk about stuff, try to improve. You know, whatever they do in marriage counseling. So, shit's gonna calm down between the two of us, hopefully. Uh, your birthday is coming up, too, so that's gonna be fun."

"You guys are like, seriously going to marriage counseling or whatever?" I ask, looking over. "Like, you're not fucking with me, are you?"

"First of all, language," my pop starts. "Second of all, no, I'm not messing with you. We, uh, we want to try and fix things. It's only right."

"Are you guys gonna talk about when you cheated on him?" I ask.

Biting his lip, my pop nods. "We're gonna talk about everything."

I nod. "Cool."

We're quiet for a moment, then he speaks up. "You and Peter..."

"What about me and Peter?" I ask, staring out the window as we pull onto our street.

"You two seem... close," he says.

I shrug, staring down at the old work boots I got at a thrift store a few days ago. "We are, I guess. We've always been close, but I kinda told him that I wouldn't be ready to really be with anyone until shit calmed down, you know? Until I could take care of myself again, manage shit. I have never dated, but I've read enough poetry to know that you can't be in a good relationship with someone else until you're in a good relationship with yourself."

"That's, that's really smart," my pop says slowly. "But, you do want to be with him, yes?"

I nod, smiling. "He's, he's nice to me. He's funny, he doesn't make me feel bad. He's trying to help me gain weight, he's understanding about me needing some time, and he is just, he's really different than how he puts out. He's a total nerd."

My pop smiles. "Sounds like you two get along nicely."

I roll my eyes. "We do. He's bad at handling emotions, but I can tell he's really trying. I know it's not his strong suit, but you can tell what he's feeling if you just look for the right signs. You can tell he's happy when he just starts to talk, and boy can he talk. When he's upset, he'll tap out a beat to a song or something with his fingers and get really quiet. It's just, you have to look for the right signs to be able to tell what he's feeling."

"You two sound like you like each other," My pop says, smiling.

I shrug. "We do."

We get home and my pop tells me he's going to shower. I change into some comfier clothes, a pair of grey sweatpants and a tee shirt, then go and sit down on the couch, pulling out my phone and scrolling through Tumblr. It takes less than a few seconds of relaxation before Theo's contact name pops up on the screen, notifying me that she's calling. I pick up and put my phone on speaker so I can still scroll through tumblr while I talk to her.

"Hey, girl," I say, reblogging a capitalist meme.

"Yo, are you uh, are you feeling alright?" She asks. "Lunch is over and we still haven't spotted you."

"I'm at home," I state, fucking with the sequin pillow that my dad insisted on buying because 'everyone in this house is gay and we have nothing to show for it.'

"Since when?" She asks, not mad, but surprised.

"About ten minutes after I left. My pop came and picked me up. He's in the shower now," I mumble, drawing a penis in the sequins.

"Why'd you go home?" She asks, then I hear her whisper to someone, "he's at home."

"Uh, I had a panic attack, threw up. Called my pop, and he picked me up." I erase the penis and draw P+P with a heart around it, then erase that too.

"You threw up? Are you okay?" She asks, her voice laced with worry.

"I'm fine, just, like, got a little freaked out. I'm in my sweatpants at home though, just relaxing. You should get to class," I state.

"Alright," Theo mumbles. "Stay safe, and eat something. I love you, Pip."

"Love you too, Theo," I sigh.

"Buh-bye," she chuckles.

"Bye," I sing. We hang up and I turn on the news, flipping to a Spanish soap opera. Luckily, it just started, so I can get a recap. Camilla found out she was pregnant while Julio and Alejandro continued to hook up, Alejandro cheating on Camilla, and Julio cheating on Isabella. But, oh, Alejandro is not the father of Camilla's baby, Mateo is.

"Why are you watching shitty telenovelas at twelve in the afternoon?" My pop asks, laughing as he sits down next to me.

I shrug. "Spanish and English are the only languages everyone in this family speaks, so we might as well bond over shitty soap operas."

My pop chuckles, hugging a pillow. "Might as well."

About thirty minutes into the show, my pop and I are yelling at the TV. Julio is wanting to break up with Alejandro, but Alejandro wants to leave Camilla for Julio, but Camilla doesn't want to leave Alejandro, but she also doesn't want to leave Mateo. My pop is yelling at her that ALejandro is gay and she needs to drop him, while I'm yelling about one big spanish orgy. After that episodes ends, we go onto hulu and just begin watching the series. It's agonizing.

"What on earth are you two doing?" I hear a voice ask as we begin our tenth episode.

I rip myself away from the screen and look to see my dad. "We're watching a telenovela."

My dad smiles and sits on the other side of me, throwing his arm over the edge of the couch. We watch the soap opera for a while, all of us yelling profanities in Spanish, until finally, my pop stands up, cracking his back.

"Alright, I'm gonna go order dinner. Babe, you wanna come to help me pick a restaurant?" My pop says, smiling lightly.

My dad stands up. "Yeah, sure. Pip, any requests?"

"Something spicy," I request.

"Alright, sounds good," my pop says.

They leave the room and I get up, wandering over to the closest we have in here. I open and look for a movie we could all watch. Deadpool lingers for a moment, but then I decide maybe not something so inappropriate. Something catches my eye. A box, labeled 'family movies.' I pick it up and open it. It's not like, Disney movies or anything, it's labeled CD cases, saying things like 'Disney land with Phillip, age four.' I pull out one labeled 'the wedding' and walk back over to the TV, sticking it in the DVD player. I sit down on the floor and begin watching. It starts out with my dad in a room, laughing as Eliza messes with his hair. It's still long. He's obviously younger than he is now, with bright eyes.

"How do you feel now that you're getting married?" Says Lafayette from behind the camera. I can tell it's him from his voice.

"I feel..." my dad trails off, smiling and blushing. "I feel amazing. In an hour, I'm going to walk down the aisle next to Washington, and John is going to be standing there. He's going to kiss me and we are going to be married. Oh, I'm so happy."

"Well that's good," Eliza says, smiling as she braids bluebells into my dads hair. "It would be a pretty garbage wedding if you weren't happy. You think John is nervous?"

My dad shakes his head. "Of course not. Nothing can stir the guy. He's probably relaxing with Herc and Thomas right now."

The screen cuts to an image of my pop, running around a different room, Thomas laughing at him from a chair. My pop looks frantic as he lifts things up, looking around for whatever he's looking for.

"John, stop panicking," Hercules says from behind the camera.

"I can't!" My pop says. "I can't find my tie and if I can't find my tie then do I even look wedding ready? ALex's dad, I mean, Washington, he's here, and I want him to approve of me and what if someone thinks I don't look put together enough for Alex or whatever the photos look bad? Can one of you help me?"

"John, you left it in the hotel room," Thomas laughs.

"The hotel?" My pop screeches. "That's thirty minutes away! Oh my god, I knew we shouldn't have gotten married so far away. Oh, Herc, you did double check the railings around the dock, right? Granny is real old and I don't want her falling into the ocean."

"Yes, I did," Herc says from behind the camera. "John, it's so pretty. I love, I love your whole Carribean destination wedding. You need to take a deep breath though and realize that you're going to be just fine. Stress gives you grey hairs."

"But my tie!" My pop eclaims.

Thomas, still laughing, gets up and walks over to my pop. He unbuttons two buttons on the top of my pops shirt and then stands back. "There. Now you look sexy."

"Hey kid, what are you watching?" My dad says as he walks into the living room and sits down next to me. He stares at the screen for a second, then laughs. "The wedding."

I nod as the screen goes to him walking down the aisle. "The wedding."

My pop walks in and sits down on the other side of us. "Oh, the wedding."

On screen, my dad and pop are sharing their vows. It's really beautiful to watch. The wedding DVD goes by, last a solid half hour. While my pop goes downstairs and gets the food that has just arrived, I change into another DVD called 'Christmas at the Hamiltons.' It plays as my pop comes back upstairs and hands us our food. I got some Thai curry, which is nice. I'm glad my parents know what I love. The film starts with me, looking about five, running around with a big monster truck in my hand, making laser noises. Wrapping paper covers the floor as I jump on the coffee table, making an explosion sound.

"Monster trucker needs to get off the table before I come in there and see that he's on the table!" My pop yells from the kitchen.

From behind the camera, my dad laughs. "Shh, it's okay, keep playing, Pip."

"So naughty," My pop mumbles from next to me, looking over at my dad as we watch the film.

The Christmas one ends and we put in more, each of us picking a new one. Finally, my dad picks one where they're renewing their vows. I'm eleven, smiling and standing next to them. We're in the backyard of our house, everyone is there, wine or drinks in their hands. Washington is standing between my dad and pop, being the makeshift pastor.

I look away from the screen when I hear my pop sniffle. He has tears gently running down his face. We all know this was after my dad cheated. We all know what went on, but we're all here. Seeing my pop cry makes me cry though, so I lean against him, tears coming down my eyes as we watch the screen. It doesn't take long for my dad to notice the two of us crying, he gently wraps his arms around my pop and I, resting his head against mine. We're not watching the movie anymore, just crying gently into each other's arms. I lean my head against my pops chest and let my shoulders shake.

"Hey, it's okay," my dad whispers.

"Can we please be okay again?" I ask gently.

"We can," my pop whispers. "We can."


	29. Despite his best efforts, Phillip Hamilton has emotions (and he almost hates himself for it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey not to be too horny on main but if Peter wanted to, he could slap me and it'd be the best day of my life

/Phillip/

It is four o'clock on Friday and I am currently in my room, packing an overnight bag. My parents have marriage counseling, and instead of leaving me alone, they offered to let me spend the night at someone's house. Without a second thought, I texted Peter, so he's now one his way to pick me up. In my duffle bag, I place a pair of warm flannel pajama pants, a tee shirt, some jeans for tomorrow, as well as a nice sweater, as well as some underwear and socks. My hair is up in a messy bun and my body is just covered in some loose overalls and a tee shirt. I grab a couple condoms and slip them in my bag too before quietly making my way downstairs. I'm about to walk into the kitchen, but then I catch a glimpse of Peter, sitting at the counter, smiling as he talks to my dad. Because I'm a curious little sneak, I pause to hear what they're saying, only because I want to.

"Can I ask you something, Peter?" My dad says.

"Of course," Peter replies.

"Do you like my son?" My dad asks, casually sipping something.

"Of course I do, Mr. Hamilton," Peter replies, chuckling.

"Well, I know you like him," My dad continues. "But I saw you two on Christmas, and I want to know, do you like him? For his best traits and for his vices? For everything he is as a person? I hold a very high image of my son, but like everyone else, he is flawed, and as his father, I want to know that if I am going to let my son be with a Jefferson, that the Jefferson will be nothing but his best."

"I can honestly say that I do like Phillip, for everything he is. And while I may be a Jefferson." Peter stops and chuckles. "I will be the best I can for him."

"Good, because if not, uh, I'll, uh, I'll comfort my son," my dad says. "Sorry, I'm really not good at this, Phillip has never really been with a boy. You know what to do. Just, like, Hallmark the shit out of this or whatever. You know."

Peter laughs. "I know."

Finally, I make my presence known, coming down the steps and smiling at them. "Whatcha talking about?"

"Sweden!"

"Politics!"

Peter and my dad's voices overlap. I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest and cocking my head, looking for a real answer. There's an awkward silence for a second, the only sound being my foot tapping as they try to think of an answer.

Finally, my dad clears his throat. "Sweden politics. You know, those things."

"Speaking of other countries, my baba should be finishing up dinner real soon," Peter states. "Phillip shall we?"

I laugh, rolling my eyes. "We shall."

Peter takes my bag and I slip on the old work boots that I bought, as well as my jacket. I kiss my dad on the cheek, knowing my pop is out getting groceries, and then walk out to Peter's car, Peter still holding my bag. I get in and Peter gets in the driver's side, tossing my bag in the back. Before he begins driving though, he leans over and pulls me into a kiss, making me laugh as I bite his plump bottom lip.

"I missed you," Peter mumbles, pushing a few loose strands of loose hair behind my ear.

I roll my eyes and lean back into my chair. "You just saw me a few hours ago, silly goose. What's on the schedule tonight?"

"Well, my baba is cooking dinner, and then I need to work out, and then we can just, you know, fuck around," Peter states.

"Ooh, are we going to the gym?" I ask as Peter begins driving.

"Nope, we have a gym in the house, so I'm gonna lift weights for a bit and you're going to distract me," Peter states, laughing. "I won't take too long, I promise. I just get antsy if I don't work out. Will that be too much of a bother for you?"

I shake my head. "No, it won't be a bother. Maybe I can just jerk off while you lift weights or something. You know, teenager boy things."

Peter laughs as he turns onto the road leading through central park. I sigh and gently move my hand in waves as I watch the snowy frozen trees go by. Peter reaches over and places his hand on my thigh, and for a moment, I feel totally naked. This is the most domestic I've ever been with a guy. I've never been into relationships, I've never been into dating. Hell, I didn't even start out having feelings for Peter, but shit just kinda blossomed. After what happened with Jacky, he was really there for me. He would pick up in the middle of the night and talk me through panic attacks, he would never push me to do anything, he cared. I felt so alone sometimes, and I would end up curled up on the bathroom floor at school, trying to hold back tears. He would come and hold me and help me calm down. I am coping with what happened, and I am dealing with it. I just, it's hard sometimes, and Peter has really been there for me.

We arrive at his house and I get out of the car. Peter still grabs my bag, then takes my hand, gently humming as we enter his house. I love Peter for that. I love that he's always singing, humming, whistling. Music plays such a big roll in his personality and I love it. I love that the boy can do four sports, work out, but still not be afraid to dance around in his room and lazily rap along with old rappers. He claims the music that was out when our parents were in college was some of the best. I like the music that was out before our parents were born.

"Pip! Hey!" Thomas says as I walk in.

"Hi!" I smile, taking off my jacket and hanging it up.

"Dinner should be ready in a jiffy, James is making some vegan Swahili meal," Thomas states, chuckling a bit.

"Swahili is a language, dad," Peter sighs.

"I'm making a vegan African meal, peanut soup, which is paired with rice, Phillip. Does that sound good?" James calls from the kitchen.

"Sounds wonderful!" I reply, hopping on the couch with Peter, watching the news with his dad. "I've never had African food before."

"James cooks it all the time," Thomas states.

"It is your culture, you will like it," Peter laughs, throwing a pillow at him.

"I wasn't born in Africa, I ain't been raised by no Africans. I'm a pure blooded Virginian who eats a diet of fried anything," Thomas points out, his voice slurring into a country accent.

"Whatever dad, you know you love baba's cooking." Peter places his arm around me and flashes a cheesy grin his dad's way.

"Y'all are weird," I mumble. I lean into Peter a bit and subconsciously fuss with the strap on my overalls. They're my painting clothes since I was painting earlier. I didn't change out of them because by the time I realized I had a few minutes until Peter was coming over, I really only could pack my bag, shower, and tie my hair up. I'm sure acrylic paint still rests on my cheeks.

"What were you painting?" Peter asks me.

I shrug. "Just finishing up a piece. I was painting the picture of the dock Hercules took on the night my dads got married. It's not done yet, but I'm working on it."

"You and John are just so, so artsy," Thomas comments. "I've never been able to understand how people just, like, make art. Write a book, paint a picture, sculpt a sculpture. I don't have that kind of patience."

"Food is art," I point out. "Cooking is considered an art. I think everyone is an artist, we just all have different mediums."

"Phillip, you are a complete mix of your parents," Thomas sighs. "Like, 50/50. I can barely deal with one Alex, I don't know how John deals with one and a half."

I smile, a chuckle escaping my chest. "I don't know either."

"Peter, did anything fun happen today?" Thomas asks.

Peter shrugs. "Uh, no not really. Practice was good, I kicked Robert's ass, so I'm gonna be wrestling against the top guy from park east in my weight class. If I gain ten pounds in muscle by next month, I'll move up into the next weight class. I'll be one of the lighter ones, but that's good, as long as I practice hard."

"Remember, if you're going to do track after that-"

Peter cuts Thomas off. "I gotta stay light. I know. I have a month between the end of wrestling and the beginning of track, so I'm gonna focus on mainly cardio, debulk myself a bit while conditioning for track. What do you think, Phillip, is this the year I get you to join track?"

I laugh. "Sports are not my thing, love. I'm an art kid. I write and paint. So, when your wrestling team wins state, I'll be the one painting the congratulations banner for you."

"Senior year," Peter states. "Senior year is when I get you to join a sport. Or get you to do a pull-up. You have never done either, so both would be an accomplishment."

Mocking offense, I gently smack his arm. "For your information, I haven't done a pull-up but I did do pee wee soccer when I was five, so don't say I've never done a sport because that is just defamation in its purest form."

"I don't speak Latin, Phillip," Peter deadpans.

"Defamation is not Latin," I tease. "It means purposely damaging someone's reputation. Like slander, or libel."

"Ooh, a smart boy. I admire smart boys," Peter says in an over exaggerated New York accent, obviously mimicking Jack Kelley from Newsies.

"Dinner!" James calls from the kitchen. The Jeffersons live in a very artistic house. My dad calls it pompous, but I've always liked the aesthetic. Firstly, there are no stairs. I think that was on purpose because James is often ill and sometimes confined to a wheelchair. The way to get to the next floor is via ramp, which served a lot of fun when Theo, Peter, Georges, and I were younger. I broke my arm once, skateboarding down a ramp when I was thirteen. I know it sounds weird, but this New York townhouse is completely made of ramps. I like it. It's very open, with an almost vintage elegance of design. Peter's room is nice because it has a slanted ceiling, as well as bookshelves lining the walls. It's pretty.

Peter, Thomas, and I get up and make our way into the kitchen, which is where they usually eat meals if no one is over. I mean, I'm here, but I'm just one person, and I'm also close friends with them, so they aren't looking to impress me. It's a nice casual atmosphere, James and Thomas sitting at either end of the table, while Peter and I subtly play footsie as we sit across from each other.

"Tell me about your day," James requests, looking over all of us.

"Today a crack addict got into the building," Thomas starts. "Lafayette was the only one who knew how to deal with the dude. Didn't freak out, didn't make a big deal. Brought the guy into our break room, made him some food, made sure the guy didn't have anything on him, then called an ambulance and made sure that all his medical expenses would be covered."

"New York, New York, it's a wonderful town," I sigh, smiling.

"Nowhere in the world quite like it," James confirms. "Peter, how was school? Did you turn in that homework finally?"

Peter finger guns. "I did. I also am going to be wrestling the top kid in my weight class over at Park East. I'm ten pounds away from going up, and I have the company of this hot pocket!" Peter flashes me a cheesy grin. "Phillip, grace us with the details of your artistic day."

"Well, I woke up way too early, so I continued the painting I've been working on. Then I went to school, came home, painted more, and came here. So, really just uneventful."

"I think it sounds very eventful. Do not let this capitalist society deem your artistic hard work invaluable because they do not profit from it. Science, math, history, it can be taught. The arts? Music, painting, sculpting, whatever, it takes passion, inspiration, brain power most surgeons don't have. Your day was extremely productive," James states, taking a gentle bite of his food. "Don't let anything convince you otherwise."

I raise my eyebrows and smile. "Thank you. That, that makes me feel a hell of a lot better about being an artist."

"Good," James smiles.

"Dad, the new Star Wars movie comes out soon," Peter says, smirking.

Thomas groans. "Star Wars was a thing in the eighties, then when I was in college, and now, when I'm like, fifty. I swear, this series will still be pumping out movies after I die. LIke Harry Potter, or Sharknado."

"Beating a dead horse, I swear. Pip, do you like the food?" James asks.

I nod. "It's very good. You're gonna have to email me this recipe."

"Okay Margret," Peter snorts. "Maybe on Saturday we can do some couponing, then pick our children up from soccer practice and get afternoon margaritas."

I stick my tongue out at him, lightly tapping his shin with my foot under the table.

"You two are literally five," James states. His voice cracks at the end and he breaks into a coughing fit. It takes him a second to regain his composure enough to be able to pull out his inhaler and take a few hits off of it. I've seen James in a coughing fit many times before, but it's still concerning every time.

"Are you okay, darling?" Thomas asks smoothly.

James smiles and nods. "Just a bit of a coughing fit. You know how I am. Nothing like how bad it got in college."

"Why was it bad in college?" Peter asks.

"Because your father used to hot box any room he could get into with Pip's dad and Georges' dad. Didn't matter what they were smoking; weed, cigarette, probably crack at one point. I'd come home and lie down and smoke would come out of my pillow," James rants.

"My dad was a stoner?" I ask.

"Hamilton smoked so much weed through college. Like, if you think he smokes a good amount now, you should've seen him in his sophomore year. I don't think the man was ever sober. Like, ever. At one point, he came over to our place and he was so high that he thought I was John." Thomas stops, shuddering. "I never thought I'd make out with a Hamilton."

James scoffs. "Please. He kissed you for two seconds then said 'you taste like pompous coffee, you're not John,' then began to eat all of our food."

"College sounds like a mess," I mutter.

"Speaking of college..." James starts, looking at Peter.

Peter groans, taking a drink of his milk. "Can't I just, like, not go."

I gasp. "Peter, you have to go to college!"

"Thank you, Phillip!" Thomas exclaims. "Peter, college is important, it is what you need to succeed in life."

"I don't even know what I want to be though! Why should I have to pick in high school? What if I want to take time to figure it out?" Peter argues.

"Take a gap year with me," I suggest. "I know what I want to do, but I'm gonna take a year to bum around Asia, you know, do silly things that young rich Puerto Rican kids do. You could do that. You don't have to go to college right out of high school."

Peter smiles and looks at his parents. "Ha, everyone else will be in college and I'll be in Asia with Pip, doing Asian things."

"They're like, racist in Asia," Thomas says. "Chinese people think black people are worse and smell bad, so y'all be ready for that."

"Thomas, you can't put a stereotype on an entire group of people," James points out.

"Right, I apologize," Thomas starts. "Racism in Asian countries against black people is something that exists." Thomas looks to James. "Better?"

"Much," James insists.

"They like Americans," I point out. "And I've heard as long as you have money and aren't like, rude or disrespectful, they leave you alone. Peggy says it's not as bad as it could be. Not as bad as America when y'all were in college."

James scoffs. "America is still just as racist! Maybe people aren't getting lynched, but we still have cultures being used as costumes, white people doing dreads, cornrows, bindis. Black is still always the minority in movies, always getting paid less. People are still using slurs. Just this summer we were in Virginia and some red neck called us niggers from his truck. Nothing has changed and we have another black president! Donald Trump ruined this country."

"Baby, we were in Virginia," Thomas points out.

"Still! White people suck!" James huffs.

"Real shit right there," I mumble, raising my glass.

Dinner goes by nicely, and soon enough, I'm following a shirtless Peter into the basement so he can work out and I can do some homework. I don't mind since I like the idea of watching Peter lift weights and sweat. Truthfully, I have no plans of doing homework. I'm just gonna stare at him until I pop a boner.

"Hey, come here," Peter says as we enter the gym.

"Oh no, what?" I chuckle.

"You're gonna do a set of lifting," Peter states, smiling.

"Baby, I have like, no muscle," I point out.

"Just forty pounds. Literally, you'll just be lifting the bar," Peter negotiates, giving me puppy dog eyes.

I groan. "You promise you'll spot me?"

He nods. "Pinky promise."

He takes my hand and leads me over to a bench. I lie down on it and check to see that there is no weight on the bar. Peter stands over me, smiling gently as I reach up and lift the bar. He keeps his hands under it, ready to catch it at a moments notice, as I lower it down. I had done weight lifting before, I went to gym class. On a good day, yeah, I could bench at least seventy pounds, but I'm literally benching a third of my weight right now. I usually weight around a hundred and fifty-five pounds, sleek muscle on my body, feeling strong, but it took me four months of raging depression to drop thirty pounds. I think I really plunged after what happened with Jacky. I didn't really even notice it until I got down to a hundred and thirty, which was around Halloween. Then, on Christmas, when I was at one hundred twenty, that's when I I realized I seriously need to gain some weight. I'm working on it, getting there, I just, I need to try a bit harder.

"Okay, I can't do anymore," I say after I lift the bar three times. My arms ache and my shoulders hurt. I used to be able to manage this, but now it's exhausting.

"Alright, I got you," Peter says, helping me lift the bar back up to where it rests.

I sit up and take a deep breath, shaking out my arms a bit.

"You good?" Peter asks, coming around to stand next to me.

I nod, rising up from the bench and smiling at him. "Of course. Just a little weak on my feet haven't eaten much today."

"You wanna go get some food?" Peter asks.

I shake my head, patting my stomach. "Nah, I'm super full. Later though, we can smoke up and eat some stoner food."

Peter nods as I sit down at the small table down there while he begins working out. I try to focus on my work. AP calculus. Let's see, use the definition of the derivative to find the derivative of f(x)=co3x and then...

God damn. Peter has muscles. I mean, I knew he had muscles, and I know he's in shape and muscled and whatever, but holy fuck. There's something about watching him. Watching him lift, do weighted squats, pull ups, push ups, sit ups, whatever other things people do when they work out. It's kinda hot, not gonna lie. The way sweat drips down his chest, the way his jaw clenches, the way he just, like, does his thing. After an hour of watching him and doing homework, I am hotter than a bitch in heat.

"You're hard," he comments as he does his millionth squat with a hundred pounds of weight being held on the forty-pound bar.

"I am not-" I cut off my exclamation by looking down and realizing that I am, in fact, rock solid and very obviously in need of some sexual attention. "Whoa, I am hard."

"This is my last set, and then I'm done," he states, "so I can suck you off if you want."

"Fuck," I mutter, thinking about a sweaty Peter on his knees sucking me off. "Yeah."

Peter chuckles. "Okay, last one."

He does his final squat and then sets the weight on the padded floor. I undo my overall straps, trying to get them off as fast as possible as Peter wipes a bit of sweat off of his forehead. I love getting head. Then again, I think every guy loves getting head, with the exception of those cool dudes who aren't into sexual stuff.

I pull my overalls and boxers down and Peter gets on his knees in front of me, his hands gently caressing my bare thighs. He pulls my legs apart a bit more and then begins gently licking and kissing the inside of my thigh. I wine desperately as he slowly moves up. This is taking way too long, and I'm way too horny to be patient, so I'm making it very clear to him that I'm not in the mood to wait.

"Peter, please," I beg, tugging his hair.

"I'm sorry, I don't know who Peter is," this mother fucker in front of me says, a smirk plastered on his bitch ass lips.

I shoot him a small glare, then pout out my bottom lip and gently caress his cheek. "Oh, daddy, please, won't you suck me off? Baby is so horny after watching you work out."

Peter licks his lips, then takes my tip in his mouth, gently sucking on it, swiveling his tongue around it as well. I moan and tilt my head back, sloppily finding his hand and gripping onto it. His other hand grips my thigh gently as he goes all the way down on my cock, his nose gently brushing the hair around my base. I have to bite my lip really hard since I know his parents are just upstairs. The taste of blood is in my mouth, but I really don't care, because Peter gives some good fucking head. Good enough to make me want to commit, which is some damn good head if you ask me.

"Fuck, almost," I mumble quietly after a bit as he bobs his head a bit faster.

Peter hums, sending vibrations through my dick and making me see stars. Holy shit, no wonder everyone in the fucking school wants to get in his bed. I mean, I've gotten head from Peter before, but this time is like, so good. Better than usual.

It takes only a bit longer of him sucking me off for me to finally give in and feel the pressure in my stomach release. I let out a quiet moan, that may or may not have been Peter's name, and then let out a breath, gently running my hand over Peter's hair. My heart is racing and my body is slightly warm because damn, the boy knows how to work his mouth.

"How was that?" Peter asks, gently resting his head on my thigh.

"You're a fucking God," I mutter.

Smiling, he leans up and taps his lips. I roll my eyes and lean down a bit, pulling him into a deep kiss. His hands gently rub my thighs and his tongue enters my mouth. I moan a bit, letting him take control of the kiss. It's nice, kissing Peter. Lately, anything I do with Peter, it's just felt, like, it's felt different. It's felt more meaningful, even the small things. Like at school on Tuesday, the day after I had to go home because of my panic attack, he very loudly burst into my English class, disrupting our work time, and brought me a vegan cookie and a bottle of water, as well as a quick kiss on the lips and then the wonderful scene of watching him trip over two desks as he tried to run out of the room before Mr. King could tell who he was. Of course, instead of calling the office, Mr. King looked at me and said 'looks like Phillip's got someone pining for him.' Anyways, that small quick rushed kiss he gave me, it felt like it was more important than all the other times we've kissed while fucking, kissed while doing something else. Being with him now feels more important.

"You matter to me," I mumble, my lips against his.

I can feel him smile, his hand gently touching my cheek. "You matter to me too, Phillip Hamilton."

He pulls away and stands up and I stand up as well, pulling up my boxers and overalls and clipping the straps back over my shoulders. Peter takes my hand and I grab my homework before heading back upstairs with him. We wave to his parents, who are on the couch, then make our way into Peter's room. It's nice, a calming yellow color, with posters on the walls ranging from sports to art, to memes, as well as that painting I did of the planets for him a week back. Peter tells me he's gonna shower real quick, then changes out of his gym clothes into a fluffy robe and makes his way to the bathroom. I flop down on his bed, slipping out of my overalls and leaving myself in just my tee shirt and boxers. After rummaging through the covers a bit, I find the book Peter is currently reading so I can read it too. Alpha And Omega: The Search For The Beginning And The End Of The Universe. Ah, yes, outer space. One of Peter's many interests. He also is a big fan of physics, and I gotta admit, listening to him talk really fast about these incredibly intelligent things is a bit of a turn on.

"How you liking it?" Peter asks, nodding to the book as he comes back his from his shower. "I can barely keep my hands off of it."

I nod, watching him change into his pajamas. "It's good. You gonna be like, an astronomer or something when you grow up?"

Peter shrugs. "I dunno. Have you ever heard of Spike Lee?"

I shrug. "I saw his movie The Black Klansman, and it was pretty good. Heartbreaking, but real good. Why do you ask?"

Peter grabs his laptop and sits down on the bed with me, signing in and opening a Netflix tab. "There's a movie of his on Netflix, and it reminds me a lot of you. It's one of those noir-until-it-gets-to-a-certain-scene movies, you know? Like Wizard of Oz or some shit."

I smile as he searches up 'She's Gotta Have It' in the Netflix search bar. "You have quite a way with words, Peter Jefferson."

He knocks my shoulder playfully. "Whatever. I really think you'll like this movie though. It's a 1986 film about a woman named Nola Darling, played by Tracy Johns, living in Brooklyn and trying to manage her three lovers, plus a lesbian who's pining after her. Spike Lee was, he was, he was an artist. He is an artist. The man could make a movie with two people and a chair seem heartbreaking and beautiful. I swear, he's like fuckin, uh, fuckin, I dunno, who's a really good artist who's dead now?"

"Picasso?" I suggest.

"He's Picasso," He whispers, clicking on the movie. "But better."

"That's a lot of love for this guy," I laugh. "I expect great things now."

"You'll get great things," Peter insists. "But, I do need to warn you, there is a bit of a rape scene, but I wrote down the time of when it starts and ends, so I can skip over it. It's not detrimental to the story, so you won't miss anything important if you need to skip it."

"Could we?" I request softly.

Peter nods quickly. "Yeah! Of course, anything for you, Phillip. And, I may reach up and mute it for a second, just because she says something that might bother you. It's not important to hear, so don't worry."

I pull him into a kiss. "Thank you."

He smiles and bites his lip. "Anything for you."

He starts the movie and I am instantly in love. I love Nola's speech about not being a freak. I love the movie as it goes on, lusting over the characters and feeling jealousy over the life Nola has. Peter skips over a scene with Jamie, and I don't think much about it. It is nice that he literally wrote down the exact time the scene starts and ends so he doesn't trigger me. I mean, who does that kind of stuff? Real nice people, that's who. He also mutes a scene towards the end where Nola is talking to Jamie, and I, again, don't think about it. Instead, I continue losing it over the drama. By the time it's over, I'm shocked I haven't seen it before. It's perfect.

"Did you like it?" Peter asks slowly.

I nod. "It was amazing! Oh my god, and the photography was, was breathtaking! Don't get me started on how beautiful that scene with the dancers was. Oh, and the music? So pretty. Since when do you have good taste in movies?"

Peter laughs. "I've always had good taste in movies. Just because my top three aren't-" he makes a pretentious face and begins speaking in a British accent. "-French noir movies from the twenties." He stops and laughs. "Doesn't mean I don't have good taste. I just prefer to watch movies that are entertaining."

"I watch movies that are entertaining!" I defend.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing entertaining about Casablanca. It's propaganda, it's boring, and it's like, not even making sense. The man is a heartless asshole who fucks women and then leaves them, the only black person is the piano player, and he's bossed around like some servant, and it's just, it's boring. No real big fight scenes, no explosions, no nothing."

"Casablanca is a classic," I gasp.

"Yeah, a classic bore," Peter jokes. "Stuff by Wes Anderson, Spike Lee, Tim Burton, most Leonardo DiCaprio, and Johnny Depp movies, and Marvel. Those are the real good movies. And before you shit on Marvel, they gave us Black Panther, so don't even try to tell me it's not that good, because holy shit, yes it is."

"You are right about Marvel," I say. "But that doesn't mean you're right about Casablanca. That movie is good."

"Mm-hm," Peter hums.

I groan, leaning in and kissing him. "You really are the son of two lawyers."

"And you really are the son of one," he replies, pulling me on top of him and kissing me more. I giggle a bit as he gently smacks my ass, biting my bottom lip as he does so. His hands wander around my body, brushing alone my sides, back, legs, face. His lips taste sweet, like flavored chapstick.

We pull away and I lean against his chest, closing my eyes for a second and listening to his heartbeat. Then, I look up at him and smile. "So, you got any weed?"

Peter laughs. "Of course I do. I just gotta tell my parents that we're gonna smoke down. They want to know if I'm high or gonna get high and prefer me to do it at home, you know? It's a safety thing to them."

I nod. "My parents are sort of just like, chill with whatever, as long as I don't die."

Peter laughs as we get up and I slip on the sweatpants I brought over. "You are really something, Phillip Hamilton."

I shrug and we walk out into the kitchen where Peter opens a cabinet and pulls out a big cookie jar, a pipe, and a lighter. Then, he gets a bowl and opens the cookie jar, scooping a bit of a handful of weed into the bowl. It's all grounded, smelling potent and sweet. Peter sees me almost drooling and hands the bowl to me, letting me lean down and take in a deep breath of the intoxicating smell. When I was a kid, teachers used to tell me to get my greens, so obviously, they couldn't be prouder now that I'm getting a lot of greens.

"Dad, baba, Phillip and I are gonna smoke down, aight?" Peter says, poking his head into the living room.

"Bring me a blunt and I'll allow it," Thomas says, smiling.

Peter rolls his eyes and retrieves a blunt for his father, as well as a lighter. "Okay?"

"Thanks, kid," Thomas smiles. "Your baba ate the last of our edibles, so you know I don't want to be sober while my husband is on cloud nine."

"Do y'all just like, smoke down as a family?" I ask, bewildered at how casual this is.

"If my kid is gonna smoke weed, then he's gonna do it with his family," Thomas says, lighting the blunt and taking a hit.

I shrug and nod, then make my way back to Peter's room with Peter. He grabs the pipe and loads it up, then hands it as well as the lighter to me. I smile and kiss his cheek before taking a long hit off the bowl, holding it in for as long as I can before blowing it out my mouth and nose while he turns on some rap music. Peter and I lean against the wall, our legs overlapping, and for a while, we just smoke, listening to the music and smiling. It's indica, so it's more of a head high, just relaxing us.

"Who is this? I like them," I mumble, smoking coming out of my mouth.

"Why, this is Kendrick Lamar!" Peter exclaims. "He was the first black rapper to win a Pulitzer for his lyrics. My God, he's like, he's amazing. I've loved his music ever since my dad introduced it to me. My baba tried to get me into African pop, but it wasn't my thing."

"You don't let on as much as people think you do," I comment.

Peter chuckles. "What do you mean?"

I shrug. "I dunno, at school you're a different person. People think they know you because that's the personality you give off. You give off this cool classic sports dude who listens to rap and does sports stuff. People just, they think you're an open book when really, you have this whole other side to you. I was in art class and I was painting that thing I did for you and I was painting that thing with the planets, and someone on the football asked me who I was painting that for, and I told them you, and turns out, they didn't even know you like astronomy and the universe. Like, you just have this whole other person that no one has ever really seen."

Peter pauses for a second. "Have you ever heard of the three face theory?"

I shake my head.

"Here, hold up." He grabs a notebook, then flips it open to an empty page. He draws three circles. "These are my three faces. "He labels them, 1, 2, and 3. "My first face is the one I show to the world. The one that everyone sees. Sports, school, liking rap, just casual things that anyone could know. Then, we have my second face. That's the one I show to people I'm close to, like you, Theo, my parents, people like that. That's everything you know about me, my passion for physics, astronomy, good movies. Stuff that, like, people who think they know me don't know about me. The stuff you know about me." He kisses the side of my head. "Then, finally, my third face, the one that I don't show to anyone."

"What are my faces?" I ask, a teasing hint in my voice.

"Easy," Peter says. "Your first face is you sleeping around, being bold, brave, not afraid to show the world that you're not scared of it. You have this confidence that you show people, and that's why it's hard for people to mess with you because no one thinks they can get under your skin." He taps the second circle with his pen. "Your second face is almost a polar opposite. When you are with the people you trust, the people you want to show this face, all your confidence, all your bravery, it leaves. You give us a very raw form of you, which is why the people who see this face could hurt you very easily. At the same time though, this face is funny, it's kind, and it's loving. You give the world your time, but you give the ones you trust your love."

"Do you really think it's easy to hurt me when I trust you?" I ask softly.

"I do, and I think you forgive people you trust way too fast," he states. "Your dad, Georges, your pop, you love them, and you don't want to be mad at them because of that, so you let yourself get hurt by them and then you forget about it because you love them." He brushes a bit of hair behind my ear. "Your heart is so big, and you care so much, but people take advantage of that. People, they just, you're so good, Phillip, and many people are not."

"I don't think, I mean, no one means to hurt my feelings. My dad and pop didn't." I bite my lip, leaning a bit closer to Peter.

"You just, you don't deserve the people you love walking all over you," Peter mumbles, gently taking my hand.

"Georges," I say quietly. "You mean Georges."

Peter sighs. "I don't want to tell you who to be friends with who not to be friends with, because I know you really care about Georges, and I know you two have been friends for your whole life, but I just, he's mean to you, Phillip. He's been meaner lately. Have you noticed that?"

I nod slowly. "I think he's just in a mood or something. Maybe shit is going on that we don't know about."

"It's not an excuse to take it out on your," Peter points out. "Look, it's obvious the kid has feelings for you, but if he really liked you, he would want you to be happy more than anything. And in the end, if you decide that you don't like me as much as you thought you did and Georges is who you want, then that's cool, but don't let it be because the kid guilt-tripped you into it. Because that's not how good relationships start."

I shake my head, gently gripping Peter's hand. "I love Georges like a brother. He basically is my brother. I just, I couldn't date him. He threw that away. He threw it away every time he hinted at me being a whore. He threw it away the moment he told me I should be better than my dad. I just, I love him, Peter. I love him a lot, and I wouldn't hesitate to take a bullet for him, but I don't want him to be more than my friend." I look up to Peter. "I've been thinking about this for a while, thinking about you, thinking about Georges. I didn't make this decision in one lust filled moment. I talked to Theo, Maria, Eliza. Even now, we still aren't in a real relationship because I just, I can't do that yet, but I still choose you. I, I just haven't felt like this about anyone ever. You mean something to me, Peter Jefferson."

Peter gently brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. "You mean something to me too, Phillip Hamilton. I like you a lot."

I stand up and grab Peter's hand, pulling him to his feet. Then, I take his phone out of his back pocket and change it to one of my playlists, the one with music that was around when my parents were in college. I click shuffle, happy to hear that the first song that comes on is Smithereens by Twenty One Pilots. I wrap my arms around Peter's neck and begin swaying gently with him, smiling.

"You know," I quietly sing along. "I've always been collected calm and chill. And you know, I never look for conflict for the thrill, but if I'm feeling someone stepping towards you I can't describe just how I'm feeling. For you, I'd go step to a dude much bigger than me. For you, I know I would get messed up, weigh one fifty-three. For you, I would get beat to smithereens."

"Your voice is pretty," Peter mumbles, kissing my forehead. "Why don't you join the choir?"

I shrug. "I just, I dunno, not my thing. Besides, I gotta take my AP classes, and all my other classes, and I have to finish art, so I don't really have time for choir."

"You are just, like, nonstop," Peter chuckles, gently touching my hips.

I nod, smiling. "Gotta go, gotta get the job done. Gotta get into the world, I am my father's son, you know."

Peter pulls me closer and I lean my head against his chest, smiling to myself. We dance for a good couple of songs, then Nothing But A 'G' Thing by Doctor Dre comes on. I have never been a huge fan of rap, but I do really like that song. It's not exactly slow dance material though, so I go to change it.

"Wait, don't change it," Peter requests.

"Why?" I ask, laughing a bit.

"I like this song," Peter says. "It was in Grand Theft Auto."

"Like, the video game?" I ask slowly.

Peter's jaw drops. "Don't tell me you've never played Grand Theft Auto."

I shrug, offering a half smile. "I wasn't a video games kid. Never got it. I like Mario Kart, but that's about it. Why?"

Peter shakes his head. "Nope, we're playing Grand Theft Auto. Come on. Let's go to my living room. I don't want you to live your life like this. You just, I don't understand how you could go on like this without playing Grand Theft Auto. Come on, I'm sure half the dudes I play with are up. Let's go."

"I don't want to like, disturb your parents," I say as Peter pulls me out of his room and towards the living room.

"We play with headsets. They're used to me playing video games anyway. Besides, they're probably too high to care," Peter convinces.

I groan but follow him to the living room, where his parents are very intensely playing chess. Peter turns on the TV and gets two headsets connected, then hands me a controller and one headset. He puts a DVD in the Xbox and then sits down on the floor. I sit between his legs, leaning against his chest while his parents don't even look up from their chess game.

"Okay, I'm gonna be listening in to the conversations as well, just so my dudes don't say anything too gross for you to handle. Also, can I call you my boyfriend this one time just so I don't have to explain all of this?" Peter says, looking at me and raising his eyebrows.

I nod, laughing. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay, gimme the controller for a second," Peter mumbles. I let him hold it and I lean back against his chest, watching him go into the game and pick the level and connect to the people. We're standing in a bar with other characters sitting around the table we're at. A quick second of static, and then I begin to hear voices.

"Hey! Peter's here!" Says a country accent.

"Hey guys," Peter says into the microphone. "I am not going to be the one playing, today. I would like to introduce you all to my boyfriend, Phillip, who has never played this game in his entire life. You know I couldn't let him go on like that."

"Wait, Phillip? Like the one you want to sit on your dick and spin like a merry go round?" A heavy New Yorker voice asks. "That Phillip? The one with the ass so tight it's like trying to fit into skinny jeans from seventh grade? That one?"

"Yes! That one!" Peter says loudly, obviously exasperated by the words used by this country boy. "God damn."

"You talk about me to them?" I say, smiling.

"Aw, he has a cute voice," says a British accent.

"God, he talks about you all the time," Says the New York voice. "It's either 'aw he's cute' or 'I want him to sit on my face until I suffocate.' It's annoying. You need to sit on his face."

"I did not know he likes that but okay," I say.

"Guys, please just introduce yourself," Peter sighs.

"I'm Eston," says the British accent.

"'M Randolph," says the New Yorker accent.

"David," says the country accent. "I'm glad Peter finally got the balls to ask you out. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we were sick of him comparing all the strippers to you."

"There are strippers in this game?" I ask quietly.

"Yes, there are," Peter states. "Okay, guys, fill us in, what are we doing?"

"Alright, so we gotta heist so we need to steal some motorbikes to be able to get away, then we're going to the bank on sixteenth street to get out money, don't worry, Eston has the bomb already, and then we gotta go out of town two miles and get on a boat and pass the border of the state," explains Randolph. "Phillip, have you ever played any video game ever?"

"Mario Kart," I state as all of our characters begin walking down the street.

"Alright, Pip, it's just like Mario Kart except it's violent and horny," Randolph explains. "Press LT to shoot, and press A to collect money. You should know how to drive from Mario Kart, but Peter can help you. Alright, let's go."

Suddenly the people begin moving towards motorbikes parked at a car. I look down at the controller and freeze, having absolutely no idea what to do. Then Peter places his hands over mine and just begins moving for me. I study what he's doing, and how to throw people off of bikes, then watch as he begins driving.

"Damn, Pip, you're good at this," David comments.

"I'm doing all the controlling," Peter deadpans.

"I'm learning!" I defend, watching his hands still. "Lemme try. I can drive the motorcycle."

"You go, Phillip!" Eston cheers.

I begin driving, and while I'm not perfect, I'm decent enough to stay in my lane and drive safely. I think I'm doing pretty well, to be honest. I haven't even come close to falling off the road or hitting a car or crashing into something. Peter is chuckling as he gently kisses my shoulder, keeping in mind that his parents are still right there.

"Phillip, do something cool," Peter says.

"I am!" I defend. "I am, like, driving on the road, following the map, going to the destination. You know, the stuff we're supposed to do."

"You get more points if you like, do a flip on the bike or something," Eston says through the microphone.

"Peter, help," I say.

Peter laughs. "Okay, let's do this."

He places his hand over mine again and then swerves the bike through two lanes of traffic and down into the ditch, then up again, really fast, causing it to do a flip and land back on the road. I giggle excitedly, watching as he does tricks on the bike, leaning into his chest a bit more and letting him rest his chin on my shoulder.

"Okay, park the bikes here, and then we're gonna walk to the bank. Y'all get your guns out," David instructs. Peter presses a few buttons and he gets off the bike, leaving it with everyone else, and then his character pulls out a gun. I watch intently as they enter a bank and all the hostages get down. Eston and David are yelling profanities while Randolph humps a hostage. Taken out of context, this could be very weird.

"Peter, you got the bombs?" Eston asks.

Peter nods, going to the doors. His character places a bomb on the door and stands back. I notice Randolph's character is just giving us a thumbs up, and I start laughing.

"Randolph, you're just fucking standing there giving us a thumbs up, like what is your fucking job?" I laugh, feeling shivers go down my spine as a burst of Peter's hot breath is felt on my neck from him laughing.

"Moral support," Randolph replies.

The door opens and Randolph and Peter walk through while Eston and David control the hostages and watch for police. Peter shoots two guards, me just watching by now, not really feeling the need to play when Peter is so good. Peter opens the vault and Randolph goes in and begins collecting money while Peter stands to watch.

"You guys better not be fucking," I hear Eston's voice say.

"We're not, we're not. I'm just watching Randy and Peter steal money," I reassure him, gently patting Peter's thigh.

"So like, when did y'all become a thing?" Randy asks as he takes the money.

"Christmas," I reply quickly, moving my hips against Peter's front without his parents, who are playing chess with only two pieces, noticing. THey have been here the whole time and haven't said a thing, haven't' blinked, haven't looked up from their board. I wanna see what happens when one of them loses or wins.

"Ooh, how did that happen?" Eston teases.

"Uh, I dunno, we just kinda, mutually agreed," Peter mumbles.

I laugh. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Boring. You two are lame. Peter, tell me about the sex, is it better or worse now?" David laughs. "Oh, shit, the cops are here."

"The cops are always here," Peter groans as Randolph collects the last bit of money. "And it's better. I mean, it was always great, but now it's better."

"Aw, thanks baby," I chuckle.

"Okay, we're gonna go out in three... two..." Eston opens the door to show the cops. "Go!" His character pulls out a bazooka and blows up a cop car. Peter shoots the cops and Randolph runs out shooting randomly.

I laugh. "This is a fuck show."

"Fuck, I just got shot," Peter complains. "I'm fine though, someone get the last car, I'll get the one coming down the street, and then we'll head to the bikes."

Peter gets a bazooka and blows up a big army truck, then they all begin running back to the bikes. I watch and giggle as Eston knocks Peter over and Peter says some loud curse words. His parents still haven't noticed, but I feel like this happens enough to where they've just learned to tune it out.

"Okay, get on the fucking-" Randolph stops as Peter pulls him off the bike and takes it. "Peter, you fuckin' prick, that was my bike!"

"I liked it better," Peter chuckles. "You have mine."

"You have a girl bike, you fag!" Randolph complains. "I don't want to ride a fuckin' girl bike. Come back!"

"Alright, get shot. I don't care," Peter chuckles.

"For real dude?" Randolph mumbles.

"You just called me a fag! Yeah, for real," Peter argues.

"Aren't you though?" Randolph asks, joining us on the 'girl bike.'

"Yeah, but it's different when I call myself from when you call me a fag. You're straight, Randolph, and like, we love an ally, but you can't call me that. Like how David doesn't say nigga," Peter preaches.

"That's dumb," Randolph says. "If you can say it, why can't I?"

"Because the word faggot stems from gay people being rolled up in carpets and lit on fire. We were murdered to the tune of this word. My pop got disowned from his dad to the tune of that word. We paid for that word in blood, in lives, in heartbreak," I state.

"Like, I can say nigga because my people died for that word. It's no longer the word a white man can use because he paid nothing for it. We paid for it with everything. So, you can't say faggot, because you paid nothing for it. When it leaves your mouth, it's just a slur," Peter continues. "Just like when I get called a nigger by a white person, it's nothing more than a slur."

"Damn, Randolph you know they right," David says.

"Whatever, y'all we gotta get to the boat," Randolph continues.

"That's his way of apologizing," Peter whispers.

"Okay, we just gotta go off of this cliff, you guys ready?" Eston asks through the microphone.

"I'm not even playing anymore. Peter is doing all of this," I laugh.

"You wanna play, baby?" Peter asks.

I shake my head. "I'm good. I like watching you play. It's a lot more entertaining that sucking at every single thing."

Peter gently plants a kiss on my neck and then drives the bike off a cliff, jumping off and pulling out a parachute. I laugh as he leans, steering it and almost knocking the two of us over. I grab his thigh and pull myself back upright, bringing him with me. He kisses my cheek and continues steering the parachute.

"Phillip, you know Peter talked a lot about you," Randolph states.

"What'd did he say?" I ask, gently running Peter's thigh and watching the screen as Peter gets closer to the ground.

"Well, he really likes shagging your ass, and he wants you to sit on his face, and also he thinks you have the legs of a young James Dean. He also thinks you look hot when you're so horny that you can't even get words out," Eston lists. "Oh, and he thinks your face looks nice."

"Aw, Peter, you like my legs?" I say.

"I like being between them," Peter mumbles.

"Hey! Your parents are right here!" Thomas yells, looking up from his chess game, which is still being played.

"That's what you look up at?" Peter exclaims.

Blushing, I laugh, leaning against Peter and covering my face with my hands.

"We made it to the boat!" Eston cheers.

"Okay, guys, Pip and I are gonna log off, see how my parents are doing with the chess game that's been going on for the past thirty minutes," Peter yawns. "Talk later."

"Talk later bro," Randolph laughs.

Peter turns off the game and looks to me, smiling. "So, how did you like Grand Theft Auto? Was it fun?"

"Yeah, for the two seconds I played it," I tease. "No, it was nice to watch you. You're real good at it. I just never thought I'd end up with a video game boy. Do you drink Mountain Dew and eat Cheetos and have no sense of hygiene?"

Peter lifts his arm and gives his armpit a smell, then puts on a thinking face. "I'd say a shower every day counts as good hygiene. And for the record, I do not just play video games. I do a lot of other shit, I just play video games when I can. It's entertaining, and you needed to play at least once, even if it was for two seconds."

"Checkmate!" James yells.

"Incorrect," says Thomas, moving something.

James' entire face drops. He stares at the board for a second, then back to Thomas, then back to the bored. "How?"

"Baby, all we have left is our kings. You were right next to me," Thomas says softly.

"God damn, I'm too high for this," James mutters.

Thomas laughs. "I'm gonna take him to bed. You two, please behave, okay? I don't want to wake up to find the house I haven't even paid off is burnt to the ground. I love you, Phillip and Peter. Don't be too loud."

James and Thomas get up and leave, and I look to Peter. "Do you wanna watch a horror movie with me?"

Peter shrugs. "Sure. What should we watch?"

"Eh, not feeling something too scary, so either..." I pause, thinking. "Saw or The Conjuring. Ooh, The Witch is actually pretty okay. I dunno, what do you think?"

"Uh, The Conjuring," Peter says.

We make it forty minutes into the movie. I'm fine, laughing almost at the movie, but Peter basically screams when the door slams shut. I pause the movie and look over at my sweet Peter, who is clutching a pillow, his eyes wide and his chest moving up and down rapidly. He does look scared.

"Aw, baby, is it too scary for you?" I tease a bit.

"Shut up!" Peter defends. "I hate horror movies."

"Well, then why'd you agree to watch one?" I laugh, pushing him back on the couch and resting my head on his stomach.

He shrugs, running a hand through my hair. "You wanted to watch one."

I roll my eyes, gently planting a small kiss on his stomach. "Let's go back to your room. I wanna see your body."

"Weird flex, but okay," Peter laughs. We turn off the TV and head back to his room, his arm around me. He pulls me into a kiss as we enter his room, picking me up and holding my butt, letting me wrap my legs around his waist. I smile as we fall onto his bed, our hands tugging at each other's clothes, but neither of us really want to pull away. We do eventually get sick of the clothing blocking us, so we pull away to quickly rip off our tee shirts and sweatpants. I moan as Peter gently grinds against me.

This feels different. Not in a bad way. It's just, the way he's kissing me, the way he's holding me, the way his body feels against mine, it feels special. It feels special even as he spits on his hand and rubs it on his dick, mixing it with the precum. It feels special as he gently pushes into me, caressing my cheek and kissing me slow and sweet. One of my hands go down to his butt and gently squeezes it while my other rests on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. I want to feel his body against mine. I want to feel his lips on mine. I want to feel the way his hands gently dig into my sides as he thrusts. I love the way he feels. I love the way this feels. I love being with Peter. I love it every time he makes me smile, laugh, blush. Every time he says something stupid, though we both know he is incredibly smart. I love every single thing about him.

"Oh, Peter," I mumble, grabbing around for his hand. He takes it and holds it softly, moaning against my mouth. My other hand traces the muscles along his back, feeling them tense and flex as he moves. Fuck, he feels so good.

"God, Pip, you make me so fucking hard," Peter mumbles, kissing my face.

I can only moan in reply, feeling him push up really far. I can feel him in my stomach, and it hurts so good. He so rough, but so sweet at the same time. I don't want this moment to end. I don't want us to stop kissing, and I think Peter feels the same way because he stops thrusting for a second and just kissing me, his dick still deep inside me. I trace the muscles on his back, smiling softly as his tongue runs over mine. His body is pressed up against me, his hand gripping mine. It feels phenomenal.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, pulling away and looking at my face.

I blush and fight back a smile.

"I mean it," he whispers. "Every fucking inch of you is, it's, it's fucking beautiful. You're just..." He pauses, staring at me. "Phillip I..."

"What?" I ask quietly.

He leans in and gently kisses me. "I have so much to say to you."

I bring my hand up and gently place it on his cheek. He leans into it, staring down at me. For a moment we just stay like that. We're so close, so happy to just be touching, so happy to just be together. Then, of course, my phone starts ringing.

I groan, then answer it, not letting Peter move from where he is. "This is Phillip."

"Hey, are you free?" Theo asks. "Georges and I are chilling at a gay thing and wondering if you wanna join us."

"Well, Peter is currently balls deep in me and we were having a moment, so I'm already at my gay thing," I say, the joking tone in my voice quite obvious.

"Damn! Get some dick! You go, Pip!" Theo squeals. "Aren't you two like gonna be official or something real soon?"

I laugh. "Yeah, we are."

"I'm so proud of you," Theo gushes. "My sweet Phillip found love."

"You were the first person I ever loved, Theo, don't you forget that. Birth to earth," I smile.

"Womb to tomb," she finishes. "Okay, well I'm gonna let you get back to your mans. For real though, Phillip. I'm glad you settled down on your own terms. I hope all the shit works out, and I hope y'all are real happy. Also, you're telling me about tonight this Sunday when we go to that lesbian cafe for your birthday breakfast. I love you, babe."

"Love you too, Theo. Bye, honey," I chuckle.

"Buh bye," she finishes.

I hang up and look back to Peter. "Now, where were we?"

"I love the relationship you and Theo have," Peter says, both of us still well aware he's balls deep in me.

"Why's that?" I ask.

He offers a half shrug, gently kissing my forehead. "You two are just, you're like, best friends. It's nice to know you have someone who's been there for you."

"Theo and I are tight. It's man love man woman love woman solidarity," I explain.

Peter leans down and kisses me again, beginning to move. I moan lightly and grip his hand tighter. His body is soft and warm against mine, and his mouth moving slowly with mine. He hits my prostate a few times, causing me to drag my nails down his back and squeeze his hand. We haven't let go yet, and I don't really want to. I'm trying to stay quiet, but it's a little difficult since everything feels so good. My breath is coming in short gasps, my body is tense, and I feel like I'm about to come undone.

"Deep breaths," Peter whispers. "It'll feel better if you take deep breaths."

I nod slowly and take a deep breath. He's right, it does make things feel better. My back arches and my chest presses against his. I keep scratching his back, small noises coming from my throat. I groan as Peter thrusts deep inside of me, digging my nails into his back, tears dotting my eyes.

"Peter, I'm, I'm close," I mumble.

"Me too," he replies.

It doesn't take much longer for me to come, untouched by him, besides the feeling of his stomach rubbing against me. He slows down but I begin grinding on him, wanting him to finish inside of me. He gets the message and continues, hitting my prostate. I ride out my high and then some before he finally finishes inside of me. He comes to a stop, then rests his forehead against mine, breathing heavy.

"Kiss me," I whisper.

"You don't have to ask me twice," Peter replies. He kisses me, sitting up and pulling me onto his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck, sticking my tongue into his mouth. He gently grabs my ass, pulling me closer as we kiss. Suddenly, it's almost as if something is ripping through my chest, but in a good way. Tears come to my eyes as I pull away, taking Peter's face in my hands and looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks.

"Oh my god," I whisper, looking at him. "Oh my god."

"What?" Peter says, looking almost concerned.

I lean in and kiss him again. "I think, I just, you..."

"You?" Peter whispers.

"Me," I mumble. "You?"

"Me," Peter replies. "I've never, I just, have you ever...?"

"I've never..." I trail off, gently running my fingers over his lips. "Peter, you, I don't, I just, I can't say it. I can't say it yet."

"You don't have to," Peter replies softly. "I know."

"You promise you know?" I ask, running my finger along his jaw, down to his collarbones and around his nipple, wanting to touch every bit of his body.

"I promise I know," Peter replies.

I press my forehead to his, sliding my hands down his sides and over his abs, which still are quite obvious. "Good. I need, I need you to remember that, okay? Don't, I just, I'm sorry I'm a coward, I'm sorry I can't bring myself to say it, but you know it. Okay?"

"Hey, don't apologize," Peter whispers. "Take your time. I'm right here. I'm right here."


	30. Dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen

/Alex/

I wake up on the morning of Phillip's birthday to a very cold bed. I roll around the covers, looking for the warmth of my husband, only to find that he's not there. Groaning loudly, I get up and find my fluffiest robe, then make my way downstairs. The smell of coffee and oatmeal wafts through the air as I enter the kitchen. John is at the stove, making food, the coffee machine brewing, vegan whipped cream, sugar, honey, strawberries, blueberries, and other fruit on the table. It's very pretty, but I'm mad at him for leaving me alone, so I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head on his shoulder and groaning again.

"Coffee will be ready soon, love," John chuckles quietly.

"The only coffee-related thing I want is the cream between your legs," I mutter.

"You are always so horny in the morning, I forgot about that," John chuckles. "Today is Phillip's birthday, and he will be up soon, so as much as I'd love the delight of seeing you on your knees right now, I think we better not scar our child emotionally on his birthday."

I groan. "But John."

He turns around and catches me in a kiss. "I said nothing about tonight."

"You're the best," I mutter, pressing my forehead to his.

"I know I am, shortie," he replies, running his hand through my hair and pushing it all back with the grease in it from not showering for a while.

"I'm not short!" I complain, nipping at his bottom lip since it's in reach of my mouth. "I'm on inch shorter than you, so if I'm short, then so are you."

"God, you're so gay," he whispers, lowering his hand to my butt.

I let out a pitiful whine. "Yeah, and I want coffee."

Sighing, John gently takes my face in his hands. "Do you think we're going too fast?"

I shake my head. "I think, I think that after four months of fighting, we can be in love and heal again, especially since we've been doing so well with our homework."

We went to couples therapy for two hours on Friday. It was originally supposed to be only an hour, but our therapist, Dr. Jamison, told us that she thought we should stay for another hour, so we did. We had a lot to go over. It was almost heartbreaking for both of us to realize how much shit we did to each other in the past four months. Both of us cried at one point. 

Dr. Jamison helped us talk about how we were feeling, instead of just trying to fight the other. John talked about how he knew he didn't handle what happened well at all, and then he talked about how he was feeling and how conflicted I was. Dr. Jamison asked me how I felt knowing what was going on inside John's head, how I felt now about anything John did. It was hard for me to figure it out. I told him I was still hurt, but I know that he was too. 

We talked about a lot more, mostly John and I, with Dr. Jamison just prompting us. When we finished, she gave us homework. We were supposed to communicate our feelings in a nonattacking way. That means that if I do or say something that hurts John, instead of just yelling at me, John would say something like 'I feel hurt when you say that' or something similar. I like it, and we both have used it twice already. She also wanted us to be very transparent with our son, try not to keep things from him, show him that we trust him.

John shakes his head, smiling, and gently plants a kiss on my lips. "You were so clingy last night, and I hope you know that."

I crease my brows. "I was?"

"Oh my god, you wouldn't let go of me," John chuckles. "We fell asleep facing each other, and then I rolled over and you like, started spooning me though I'm bigger than you. Then, I rolled on my stomach and you had one leg thrown over my legs, and then your arm across my back, and your head like, right next to mine. Finally, I rolled on my back and you buried your face in the crook of my neck, stuck your hand down my boxers, and wrapped your legs around mine. So yes, you were very clingy."

I laugh. "Oh, God, I'm sorry."

John rolls his eyes. "I never said I had a problem with it."

"Wait, hold on, I stuck my hand down your boxers?" I ask. "Did we like, fuck in our sleep or something? Did I give you a handjob?"

"No!" John laughs. He sticks his hand down the waistband of my pajama pants, letting it rest with his fingertips right above my base. "It was like this."

"Ooh, I was just playing with my husband's pubes all night," I joke.

John scrunches up his nose. "Gross. Don't say that word. It's like, it's the equivalent to moist. Pubes just make me think of the shower floor at our college gym."

"Ah! Don't say anything about that! I once passed out on that shower floor and I don't want to think about what gross athletes foot pubic hair mess that was around me!" I say, covering my ears.

"Wait, when did you pass out on the shower floor?" John asks.

"During that fight in our freshman year," I say casually.

"Wait, hold on, what?" John asks, very confused.

"Hold on, I seriously never told you about this? Like, ever?" I ask slowly.

He shakes his head slowly.

I chuckle a bit. "Oh, uh, wow, I thought I did. Uh, no, I uh, that was, I, no that was when I relapsed, and I relapsed on the shower floor of the gym, and then I passed out, because like, you know, it was just, I just bled a lot, and I passed out with the shower on, and then I woke up the next morning and went to the library to realign my back."

"Jesus, that, that's like, that's bad," John says.

I shrug. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

John places his hand on my cheek. "I feel sad when you invalidate the things you've been through."

"How would you rather me phrase that I'm okay with what happened?" I ask softly.

"Now, I am not as eloquent as you, but I wish instead of saying that it's not a big deal, you would say something like 'I'm not in the same place anymore' or something like that," John suggests, gently running his thumb over my bottom lip.

I smile gently. "I apologize for making you feel sad. Please let me rephrase that." I plant a small kiss on his lips. "It was at a time in my life when I was very vulnerable and very unstable, but now it's in the past, and I'm in the kitchen of the house we bought with the love of my life."

"God, do you remember how much shit we went through to buy this house?" John sighs.

I groan loudly. "That fucking realtor was racist I swear to God because she kept showing us like, cheap apartments and we were like 'no, we have fucking money, take us to a Manhattan townhouse.' Finally, she started showing us some real fucking houses, and she was like, skeptical that we could afford any of them."

"You fucking showing up in like, sweatpants and a ratty hoodie probably is what made her think that," John laughs.

"Then on signing day I had to come straight from work and I was at a big meeting with the governor, so I was wearing my best suit and I just showed up in my company issued Gucci suit, and she looked very shocked," I tease, giving a satisfied smile.

"It is not company issued," John laughs. "Washington bought that specifically for you because he knows all you own is dress shirts from the bargain bin at Target and dress pants from the Goodwill in New Jersey."

"Hey!" I whine.

"Alex, half your wardrobe is polyester," John deadpans.

"He's right," says a voice.

I turn and see Phillip, coming downstairs in his pajamas. "My own blood, betraying me."

"Oatmeal?" Phillip says, smiling.

"Special dessert oatmeal with all the fruit you like," John smiles proudly. "I've been up for an hour just so you can enjoy it, so eat up."

"Happy removal day, tumor baby," I say, smiling as I watch Phillip get a bowl.

He was a C-section since his surrogate mom, who he actually knows, couldn't birth him vaginally since he was too big, due to the fact that he was a few weeks late. We've never told him who she is, but he did never ask. We wanted someone who looked similar in skin tone to John, and we had a friend who absolutely did not kids, would not fall in love with either of us, but would totally be the surrogate mom as long as we bought her plane ticket to New York from where she was living currently, China, and then back to China after she gave birth. So, that's the story of how Peggy is actually Phillip's surrogate mom. 

Phillip has never asked, but if he did, we would tell him. We'll probably tell him eventually even if he doesn't ask. Honestly, I see Peggy more and more in Phillip as he grows up. The happy personality, the need to travel, the weird almost black sheep personality. I was talking to Peggy the other day and I told her that she definitely was at fault for my son's future face tattoo. Peggy got a tattoo over the scar on her stomach because she doesn't like scars.

"Alex! You can't say that to our son!" John says, his voice cracking.

I begin laughing. "You're sensitive. Phillip, are you my special tumor son?"

"Yes, I am," Phillip nods. "I was too gay to go through a vagina."

"Okay, so you are fully gay, yeah?" John asks.

Phillip laughs. "Oh, yeah, I never came out to you guys, didn't really have to. Uh, I'm pretty gay, but like, if Meghan Markle started making out with me, I would push away at first, but then, if she was persistent, I would give in."

"That's respectable," John says. He gets a bowl of oatmeal and sits down, the rest of us joining him. "Okay, now we gotta know."

"What?" Phillip asks, lazily looking up from his bowl that looks like mostly whipped cream and strawberries.

"Peter Jefferson, thoughts?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

Phillip rolls his eyes. "You guys are like high school girls. Why is my love life so interesting to everyone? I have people always asking me what I'm doing, and I don't understand, what is so interesting about who I want to kiss?"

"Because you never have dated anyone ever, and now you and Peter are kinda like, a thing. I dunno, I was talking about it in the group chat with Laf and Herc and they said that you and Peter seemed really close when you went Christmas shopping," John continues.

"I dunno," Phillip shrugs. "We're, we are, uh, we're just, I guess we're gonna be a thing when things settle. I guess things are settling right now, so, uh, maybe I'm finally going to be in a relationship real soon."

"Does he treat you nicely?" John asks.

Phillip smiles and looks down. "He, uh, he does. He tried to teach me video games, and he, he carries whatever I put into his arms when we go grocery shopping. Oh, and-"

I cut Phillip off. "Hold on, you're going grocery shopping with him? When did this happen? Since when is my son being domestic?"

Phillip laughs, taking a bite of his oatmeal. "I just needed to pick up a few things for the house and Peter gave me a ride. I didn't think I needed a basket and turns out, I didn't, because Peter has big arms and can carry four pomegranates, some peppers, a bag of carrots, a carton of orange juice, and a tub of ice cream."

"Well, we trust you to be safe," John states.

"Uh, if I can ask, how did marriage counseling go?" Phillip asks softly.

I look at John, nodding. "It was, well, it was obvious that we have a lot to work on, but I think this is really going to help. We're seeing a woman named Dr. Jamison, and she thinks we should see her once a week for a while. We talked about some things, and then more things when we got home, and we have homework. We're just supposed to communicate our emotions to each other in a calm manner, using 'I' statements, and then be very transparent with you. She told us since we were your parents, you have a right to know what's going on, so, yeah. What do you think?"

Phillip smiles lightly. "I'm, I'm glad you guys are going to work it out and stuff. I know a few kids with split parents, and that life doesn't really sound very nice."

I gently take John's hand. "Well, what do you expect? You think I was just gonna flirt with him for eight years, date him for eleven, marry him for seventeen, and then not die with him next to me? Psh, as if. I'm like the gum on the bottom of your shoe. You ain't ever getting rid of me."

John shoots me a playfully annoyed look and I smile cheekily.

"You guys are weird. What are we doing today?" Phillip asks, taking a bite of his oatmeal and getting whipped cream on his nose.

"Such a messy eater," I chuckle, taking my napkin and wiping his face off.

"Uh, we could invite everyone over to the house and order a pizza, or we could all go out to eat and then come back here to open presents? I dunno, who would you want to invite to this thing? You should probably let us know now, just so we can text everyone," John states, pulling out his phone.

"The Jeffersons, Lafayettes, Burrs, and Washington's. Oh, and Angie and her husband if they can," Phillip states.

"Sounds good," I state, laughing.

John texts the big group chat with all the adults, and I know this because I can feel my phone buzz in my pocket, then begin buzzing more and more as people respond. I haven't really used the group chat in a while, but even before everything happened, I didn't use it. Now, as it blows up, I remember why. It's a bit annoying sometimes, especially back in college when Laf would blow it up with memes while drunk.

"Okay, I think we can expect full attendance," John laughs. "Where should we go out to eat? Birthday boys choice, Pip."

Phillip stops, thinking for a second, then smiles. "How about Red Bamboo? You know, that really good Chinese place we ate at all summer?"

I roll my eyes in the back of my head, groaning. "That sounds so good. Even if I do have to suffer through a night of vegan-friendly Chinese food."

"I think your dad brings up the fact that we're vegan more than we do," John jokes, smiling and laughing with Phillip.

"Your pop used to, he used to like, okay he was not always vegan," I start. "In college, I could watch the man put back a whole order of Mongolian beef, and then another order of sweet and sour sesame chicken with some pork Lo Mein."

"In my first two years of college. After that I stopped eating meat, and then not too soon after, I went vegan," John recalls. "Phillip just, like, you were always like that, kid."

Phillip shrugs. "It's good. You guys should totally let me open one of my birthday presents right now because I'm the birthday boy and I said so."

I look at John. "Can we give him the one we bought on Friday? You know, when we were trying to find my new dress shoes because the ones I had finally broke? You know, that gift? Can we? Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top and-"

John cuts me off, smiling. "Go get it, Alexander."

I punch my fist into the air and run up to our room, opening our closet and seeing the stack of birthday presents for Phillip. We haven't bought him this much since he was a young kid, but we figured we have a lot to make up for, and a little cushioning with some extra gifts for his birthday. Call us superficial, but Phillip does deserve a little extra something. He's gone through so much, so he deserves this.

"I saw it and instantly thought of you," I state, smiling as I come back downstairs with the thin but wide box wrapped in silver wrapping paper in my hand.

"Gimme gimme!" Phillip jokes, reaching out his hands.

I give the box to him and sit down, smiling as he gently removes the wrapping paper. He's never been one to rip it open, always just delicately taking the tape off the ends and sliding the box out. I always leave a little tab in the tape so it's easier for him. He carefully takes the box out of the wrapping paper and gently opens it. His eyes widen and a smile comes over his face as he holds it up.

"Do you like it?" I ask.

"I'm gonna go get dressed so I can put it on right now," Phillip announces, then gets up and runs upstairs.

I chuckle and lean against John, taking his hand in mine. "I can't believe he's seventeen."

"It's the year of the dancing queen for him," John replies.

I groan loudly. "I waited twenty-five years of my life for ABBA to finally stop being relevant, and every time I think I'm never gonna hear another reference to it ever again, you pop up and say something like that."

John laughs. "Do you remember when we were seventeen?"

"God, we were so gay, like, that whole year. I have no idea how we still stayed oblivious to that," I reminisce.

"You ground on my leg and got off in your sleep once," John tells me.

"Ah!" I groan. "Please, let's ignore how fucking oblivious and dumb we were. Now I can grind on your leg and get off while we're awake."

John chuckles. "Fucking, just like, fucking us when we first got together, getting off on just grinding. We were such lightweights."

"I wish I could get you off that easy now," I groan. "It takes hours."

"It does not take hours," John snorts. "I can last a solid twenty minutes, while you're done in ten minutes and falling asleep."

I smack his arm. "I'm old, John. Let me be old."

"Okay, old man," John chuckles. "I think you better get some of your youthful spirits back because we really oughta take a day off and make up for what we've missed."

"Whatever you horny bastard," I chuckle. "We shouldn't be talking about sex on our sons birthday. We should be talking about how seventeen years of his life have happened right before there eyes and it feels like just yesterday he was..." I trail off, feeling tears come to my eyes. "He was toddling around in his Huggies and playing at the park and holding our hands as he crossed the street and oh my god, I'm so gay."

"Aw, Alex," John chuckles, hugging me closer to him. "It's okay. He's still our son, no matter how old he gets or how many face tattoos he has."

"For the last time, we still aren't sure if he's going to get a face tattoo," I state, smacking his arm and pouting.

"You aren't sure," John corrects.

"How do I look?" Says Phillip, appearing in the steps and posing dramatically. He's wearing some red socks, a black pair of skinny jeans, a black tee shirt, and then his birthday present. A black kimono with light pink roses all over it. His hair is tied up in a bit of a bun and his eyes are fully done up in black and messy eyeliner.

"He's definitely your son," John states, chuckling.

John, Phillip and I spend the day hanging out, walking around town and getting lunch at the mall, then seeing a movie. Finally, we're walking down W 4th ST to get to the restaurant. I made a reservation and apologized twice to the waitress for having a party of sixteen. She said it was no problem and told us she'd make sure there was a place for all of us to sit by five. I think one of the reasons she felt like it was no problem was because I told her that there was only going to be one check needed. It's what the group has been doing for the whole time we've been friends. Since most of us have been waiters and waitresses, we know how awful it is to have to give out twenty different checks to the same table, so one person pays, and everyone else Paypal's the price of their meal to them.

We enter and I tell the front desk lady about our reservation, smiling gently as she informs me she'll be out waitress, and she was the woman who I spoke on the phone with. She leads John, Phillip, and I to a large table in the back. I sit down, facing the door while John sits next to me. Phillip sits at the head and we all seem to simultaneously let out a deep breath, happy to be at a restaurant. It doesn't take long for our guests to start arriving, because, after a few minutes of small talk, I see the undeniable top of Burr's head.

"How's my birthday boy doing?" Theo yells happily, skipping over and sitting across from me, next to Phillip.

"Hey, gorgeous," Phillip replies, leaning in and hugging her.

"Phillip, you're finally seventeen," Dosia states, sitting down. "You gonna get your license yet? Or are you still not wanting it?"

"It's probably best if I stay off the road," Phillip states. "Last time I drove-"

Washington cuts him off, sitting down next to Aaron. "I had to pay to fix the company car. For some reason, every time a Hamilton gets behind the wheel, money comes out of my pocket."

"Hey!" John defends after giving a quick smile and wave to Martha. "I'm a wonderful driver and you know it."

Washington smiles. "I do. Happy birthday, Phillip. Nice kimono."

Phillip flashes a movie star like smile. "Thank you, my parents got it for me."

"We are still waiting for the Jeffersons, the Lafayette's, and the Church's, right?" I ask John as Phillip begins talking about something.

"Well, give it up for this groups favorite gay French man, because he just walked in the door with his husband and son, so just the Jefferson's and the Church's now," John jokes, pointing to Lafayette who is practically skipping over. He comes to the other side of the table and sits next to John, Herc sitting next to him, Georges sitting next to Herc.

"Happy birthday, Phillip!" Lafayette squeals. "You're the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen."

"Oh my god!" I groan. "Am I going to have to listen to ABBA all night? Jesus, please, someone take me now. I would kill for literally any other song about being seventeen."

"Fine, we're damaged, really damaged, but that does not make us wise," sings a voice.

"We're not special, we're not different, we don't choose who lives or dies," Continues Phillip. He turns and smiles at Peter, who stands with his family.

"Let's be normal," Phillip and Peter sing together. "See bad movies, sneak a beer and watch TV. We'll bake brownies, or go bowling. Don't you want a life with me? Can't we be seventeen? That's all I want to do. If you could let me in, I could be good with you."

"That was so gay," Lafayette states.

Phillip smiles, finger gunning at Laf. "Kinda my thing."

Peter, rolling his eyes, leans down and plants a kiss on Phillip's lips. "Happy birthday, babe. You look very nice."

"Peter, come sit next to Phillip," I say, then I look down my side of the table. "All of y'all, scoot down one. My son is seventeen. Wait, hold on, all the kids on one owned of the table, Georges, come here and sit next to Peter, y'all scoot down one more."

"Y'all," John mocks, laughing as he scoots down two chairs.

Peter, smiling, sits down next to Phillip as his parents sit next to Martha. Goerges sits down between Peter and I and smiles gently at Phillip. Phillip chuckles and waves as he sees Angelica and her husband walk through the door. Their son, Jeremiah, is already out of the house and working somewhere in Texas, so we don't see him very often, but he's a good kid. It's always nice when he comes up.

"Happy birthday, Phillip," Angelica says, smiling.

"Hello, what drinks can I get for you?" Says a waitress, setting down menus in front of us. I know I'm just gonna get what I usually get here. A Campo Cabernet Sauvignon, and then some Szechuan beef, which isn't real beef, but it's the one nonvegan thing on the menu. Everyone orders, me flipping John's menu to the nonalcoholic beverages since he didn't seem to want to. He gave me an annoyed look but I didn't say anything, just nodded to Phillip and then went back to browsing the wine section.

"Man, I forgot how good this place was," I groan as they set our food down in front of us. "Phillip, this was the best choice to make for your birthday."

Phillip smiles, digging into his weird brown rice vegetable thing. "Out of all the vegan restaurants in New York, this is one of my favorites. That, and that little lesbian breakfast place that you took me too on our spa day, Theo."

"I loved all the titty art," Theo stated.

Phillip nodded. "It was truly refreshing to see women's bodies of all shapes, colors, and sizes captured in art form. The representation of different types of bodies is truly beautiful, and the artwork by itself was magnificent."

Theo pauses. "Phillip, I liked the titty art because I'm gay."

"Ooh," Phillip says, obviously realizing this.

"Phillip is so gay he doesn't remember that there are people who like girls," Georges teases, chuckling as he takes a bite of his noodle dish.

Peter, who is eating a dish meant for three people to share and then has a side next to him, laughs. "This is why he can't play Grand Theft Auto."

Phillip makes a mock offended face. "I can so play Grand Theft Auto! You just have to do everything my character is supposed to do for me."

"John, Alex, you raised a kid with no video games, and I don't know how you did it. I would've gone crazy if I had to entertain Peter every moment of the day," Thomas sighs.

"Oh, we just put out some paint and let Phillip play in it," John states. "I have pictures of the kid in just his underwear basically covered in paint."

"I will pay real life money to see those," Peter calls out.

"Dad, don't let Pop show Peter those pictures," Phillip begs.

I shrug. "He's an unstoppable force, and I'm an object moved by puppy eyes and also basically anything because I'm small and he can pick me up."

"I'll never forget watching John come into the library to find Alex, who had been there for four days, studying for finals without sleep. Alex was like, hallucinating at this point and oh my God." James stops and laughs. "John threw Alex over his shoulder and Alex pounded John's back with his tiny little fists, and John didn't even like, consider putting Alex down. Just brought him back to the dorm and put him to bed."

"It was an important final!" I defend.

"You thought I was Barack Obama," John deadpans.

"Maybe so," I state.

"Okay, Phillip, now that you are seventeen," Washington starts. "Do you feel any different? Any older?"

"I stopped aging when I was twelve, so no," Phillip chuckles.

I sip my wine and laugh. "That's what your pop did, I think."

"Ain't nothing wrong with being twelve," John defends.

I lean against him, smiling and taking his hand. "You're right."

"Ah!" Thomas calls out. We all look over at him to see a kid grabbing onto his hair. The kid can't be older than two, with skin the same tone as his. He's being carried by a white woman, who realizes what her child is doing and gasps.

"I am so sorry," she says. "My son, he, I'm sorry, he's young."

"I wanna touch!" The kid cries out.

Thomas turns and tilts his head forward a bit. "Let him. One day, his hair could look like this. He can touch it."

The kid giggles as he bats on Thomas' fluffy hair. "Big."

Thomas nods. "Took me a long time to grow it out this big."

Something catches my eye that I don't think anyone else notices, but I do. Peter runs his hand over his short cut hair and sighs sadly. Peter used to have long hair, really long hair. It was put into dreads, and he looked good with it. One day last year, he was in a wrestling match, and the referee said the hair war too long and he had to cut his dreadlocks off or forfeit the match. Peter, who didn't know that the rule about hair wasn't actually being broken, just let his hair get cut off. A lot of people filmed it, and it was real heartbreaking. When his parents saw what happened, they were furious. They sued the referee, getting him fired and taking a fair amount of money from him. Peter hasn't even tried to grow his hair out since then, but sometimes I feel like he wants too, because he doesn't seem to really like having short hair.

Dinner goes by and finally, I'm putting my credit card in the check as everyone figures out how much they owe me. Not gonna lie, it's still satisfying to see Thomas Jefferson Paypal me sixty-two dollars. We all get up, thanking the staff for putting up with us, and leave the restaurant, stepping out into the cold. Peter has his arm around Phillip, and it's very clear that Peter's scarf has been lent to Phillip.

"Hey, you two," Lafayette smiles, coming up to us as I slip my hand in John's jacket pocket so I can hold his hand.

"Hey, Frenchie," John chuckles.

"You two are looking, uh, close," he states, obviously not sure how to phrase it.

"Curiouser and curiouser," I quote, laughing a bit. "Yes, we are looking close. I think it may please you to know that we are fixing things, going to therapy, that fancy jazz."

"Good for you guys," Lafayette states sincerely. "Phillip looks better. He was looking a little rough for a while there."

John nods. "He was, he was hurt. But, we're working on helping him gain some weight, which he is trying really hard on, and I think he looks happier. Way happier than he did in like, November and October."

Lafayette nods, looking at Phillip who's laughing at something Theo is saying. "He really does. God, when did we get so old?"

I groan. "I have no idea."

John leans against me and gently kisses my cheek. "Somewhere around the time Phillip started functioning as an adult."

"Yuck," I mutter. "He's gonna be in college soon."

"We're gonna lose Theo, Peter, Phillip, and Georges all in the same year," Lafayette chuckles. "I don't know why we all decided to have kids at the same time."

"Well, Peggy and Dosia got pregnant with the kids around the same time, and you and Herc had been approved to adopt for a while. And really, Thomas and James didn't have kids when we did. They just adopted a five-year-old Peter when the rest of our kids were five. Peter was so cute as a little kid, so shy and what not." John laughs a bit. "Polar opposite of Phillip."

"Now he's with your kid," Laf points out. "How are you feeling about that?"

"Peter is a really good kid, and I know he and Phillip have been close for a while. Besides, I know Peter, I know his family. He's really good, and look at Phillip." I gesture to my son, who is smiling wide as Peter tells him something. "Look at how happy he is with Peter. He deserves to be that happy with someone."

"Okay, let's get this party moving to our secondary location!" Thomas says. "Hamiltonia isn't going to trash itself!"

"It is a school night, so you will not have time to trash it," John states.

I smile as we all begin walking to the Subway, knowing only James, Herc, Washington, and Aaron are gonna buy ticket, since everyone else has chaotic energy. It truly has been a nice day, and I'm glad my son is happy. He deserves it.


	31. Toxic masculinity has no place at Peter's choir concert

Phillip

I stand in front of my mirror, adjusting my black tie on my untucked white dress shirt. My plaid pants hug my legs loosely. I just gotta gain like, ten more pounds and then I'll start to really look like a normal person again. I'm back at one hundred and thirty pounds, which is still too low for me, but once I hit a hundred and forty, I'll be finally back in a healthy weight. Tonight though, I'm not really thinking about that. I'm thinking about Peter, Georges, and Theo's choir concert, which I will be attending. I'm being picked up by the Jeffersons since my parents are going to marriage counseling.

I go to my vanity and apply some deodorant and eyeliner, then double check my hair before going downstairs. My parents are sitting at the table, talking about something, but look up when I walk in, smiling gently.

"Hey, Phillip, you look nice," My dad states.

"Thank you. I have a choir concert I shall be attending, so I might as well look nice, especially since my mans and I are gonna be getting some food together afterward," I say, smiling as I get a cup of chocolate almond milk.

"Ooh, like a date?" My pop smiles.

I shake my head. "Nah, the Burr's and Lafayette's are gonna be there, as well as Peter's parents, so, more like eating next to each other at a diner."

"Have fun, alright? If you wanna spend the night anywhere, be our guest, just go to school tomorrow, okay?" My dad tells me.

"Alright," I nod. I down the rest of the cup and wipe my mouth, then grab my wallet and house keys from the bowl and put them in my pocket, then slip on my jacket. "I'll see you guys are one point."

"Stay safe, kid," my pop requests.

"Always do," I laugh as the text from Peter telling me of his arrival appears on my phone. "Alright, my ride's here. Love you guys."

"Love you too, Phillip," my dad says.

"Love you, kid," my pop tells me.

I wave and exit the house, climbing up some steps to the sidewalk. I see the big black SUV parked on the sidewalk, and I open up the back door to see Peter sitting there in a full out tuxedo, which is what the choir has to wear. He looks really good, gorgeous really. The suit hugs his chest, legs, and arms in just the right way. He looks sharp, like James Bond or something.

"Hi, beautiful," Peter chuckles.

I climb in and lean over to plant a kiss on his lips. "Hey, babe." I look to the front as I sit down in my seat, buckling up my seatbelt. "Hey James, hi Thomas."

"Hey, Phillip, you look nice," James says, smiling at me in the rearview mirror.

Peter takes my hand. "He always looks nice."

I laugh. "I don't know if you know who you're talking about, but I feel like I should tell you that I do not always look nice. You just haven't seen me after four days of no showering in the pair of sweatpants I've worn for a week."

"See, now, I'm picturing that, and all I can think about if you with your hair up and a big sweater and some sweatpants, curled up watching Netflix and honestly, that's adorable," Peter states, winking at me.

"You guys are so romantic, it's gross," Thomas states.

"Hey, dad, I just want to remind you that this morning, you made coffee for baba and you put a heart in the foam and then made a heart-shaped pancake for him, so really, I don't think you're in any place to talk," Peter points out.

"That was a good pancake," James mumbles. "Are you feeling nervous, kid?"

Peter shakes his head. "Nah. I got my good luck charm in the audience, and besides, I'm amazing, so there's like, no way I'll mess up."

"Phillip and I are the only people in the car with egos that are normal sized," James sighs. "Peter, Lafayette and Aaron suggested that one diner we always go to, does that sound good?"

"Yeah, that sounds great," Peter states. "Uh, my car is in the school parking lot, so Phillip and I will probably just take that to the diner, yeah?"

"Sounds good," Thomas replies.

I pull out my phone and open Snapchat, then hold it up to Peter. "Babe, sing something. Warm up your voice or whatever."

Peter looks at me, then begins singing what is obviously a warm up. "Sit on a potato pan, Otis, sit on a potato pan, Otis, sit on a potato pan."

I smile and end the video, then caption it 'pretty' before saving it and then posting it to my story. "Are you going to be wearing the suit to the diner?"

Peter shakes his head. "I got a bag of clothes in the dressing room, so when the concert is done I'll change into some normal street wear. You know how I am."

I pout. "Okay, I guess."

We arrive at our high school and get out of the car. Peter places his hand in my back pocket, his hand gently squeezing my ass. I giggle and lean against him as we walk through the doors. I see Theo and Aaron and Dosia right away. Theo is wearing a suit similar to Peter's, and on her arm is Franny, who is wearing a sweet yellow sundress. Theo looks really good in her suit, her body filling it nicely.

"Theo, you look so freaking amazing," I state.

"Aw, Phillip, as do you," she chuckles, kissing my cheek. "You know my wife."

"Hey, Franny," I laugh, bringing the Russian girl in for a hug.

"Hello Phillip," she says happily. "Who is your fancy date?"

"This is my husband Peter," I joke, taking his hand and pulling him closer. "Peter, this is Theo's main lady, Franny."

"Nice to meet you," Peter smiles.

"Nice to meet you as well," Franny replies.

"Ladies and gentleman!" Theo begins. "The moment you've been waiting for. The pride of Hunter high, Georges Washington!"

"It's nice to see you too," Georges states, joining us, wearing a suit similar to Peter's and Theo's. "Hey, guys, how you doing?"

"Splendid," I say dramatically, pulling him into a hug. "You look nice." I let go and look to my three fancy friends. "You all look nice in fact. Stand together so I can get a picture, come on. I want to brag about you all on Snapchat."

The three of them laugh but pose. Theo is in the middle, smiling while Georges leans against her and makes a silly face. Peter puts his arm around both of them and sticks out his tongue, smiling and closing his eyes. I take as many pictures as I can, along with Franny who has her phone out and is snapping photos of the group.

"You guys are so pretty," I state.

"Aw, we love you too," Peter chuckles.

"Lemme see," Georges requests. I pull up the photos and let Peter and Georges lean over my shoulders, watching as I scroll through them, occasionally zooming in on bystanders faces and laughing to myself.

"Damn, no one told me how good I looked in this suit," Petter mumbled, smiling cockily at me when I shoot him a sarcastic look.

"Well, you look good in your suit," I state. "There, now your ego is fueled."

Peter laughs and plants a kiss on my head. "You're too good, Phillip."

Smiling cheekily, I nod, turning off my phone and slipping it back in my pocket. "I know."

"Oh, shit, Peter, Theo, we gotta skedaddle, get into the choir room, or you know Mrs. Soderlund is gonna skin us alive," Georges states.

"Aw, momma Sods likes us too much," Peter says.

"Uh huh," Theo laughs, planting a quick kiss on Franny's lips.

"Okay, you go sit down with the parents, alright? Have fun," Peter states.

"Good luck," I whisper.

He plants a quick kiss on my lips, then begins walking backward, skipping almost as he tries to catch up with Theo and Georges. "I don't need luck, baby, I got you!"

I roll my eyes and turn to Franny. "He's too much."

"Theo told me that you two were finally dating, is that true?" Franny asks.

I roll my eyes. "Not yet, but I think, uh, I think like, in the next couple of days. Theo is just excited that I found a guy who I lo-like."

"Who you... what?" Franny teases, poking my side.

"I didn't say anything," I laugh. "And don't tell Theo about the nothing I said. You know she'd like, throw a party with a big banner saying some sarcastic comment."

Franny chuckles. "She's so excitable. It's adorable. We go to the farmers market and she'll always squeal and giggle when she sees the sheep and pigs. I swear, she's gonna live on a farm in Japan and have eight sheep and four alpacas."

I nod. "Yeah, that sounds like her."

"Come on, kids, let's go find our seat," James calls out. I nod and link arms with Franny, walking into the big auditorium. It's colder, but it only affects Franny in her yellow sundress, so I take off my thick bomber jacket and place it around her shoulders. She smiles at me as we sit down. I'm next to her and James, smiling as we wait for the choir to come out. James is gently rubbing his stomach, tapping his fingers along his pudge. James isn't fat, he really isn't. He's just a little pudgy. I've seen pictures of him in college, and he was skinnier than me in November. Now he looks really healthy, well, as healthy as he can be.

The choir starts going on stage and my heart leaps at the site of Peter, obviously trying not to laugh at something a girl behind him is saying. His smile is so wide, and he looks so good in his suit. Man, I want him to tie my hands with that tie and fuck me on the school bathroom counter. He's hot as shit, always. The pianist gives the starting note, and I'm surprised as Theo steps forward, grabbing the microphone. Franny grips my hand, leaning forward.

"Can anybody," Theo starts, hitting the highest note I've ever heard her hit. "Find me, somebody, to love?"

"Whoa," Franny whispers. Theo steps back and the choir starts singing the million part Harmony of the beautiful Queen song. Franny and I listen, neither of us really breathing. It's beautiful. They go on to sing a few Broadway songs, a song from when my parents were younger kids, as well as a few newer pop songs. Franny and I listen intently, gripping each other's hands as we do. Finally, the choir leaves and the choir teacher, Mrs. Soderlund, comes out on stage, smiling. She's an older woman round, who knows me well enough to like me. Some people think that she's rude, but really, she's quite amazing. Nice lady.

"Why hello there!" She says, smiling. "Welcome to my theatre! Let's give a big round of applause for our Hunter college high school choir!"

Everyone claps, Franny and I breaking our hands away to applaud loudly. I fuss with my tie a bit as the room quiets down. Mrs. Soderlund smiles, hushing us a bit more so she can talk more about the choir and whatnot.

"Now, a few students have prepared solos for the end of this concert, so I would like to welcome Frederick Tallmadge with a German opera song called Fidelio," Mrs. Soderlund says. I clap and listen to the music, nodding along, laughing when I hear Franny mutter 'Russia can do everything better than Germany, including music.' Frederick finishes and Mrs. Soderlund introduces another kid, a girl, singing an older song from before when my parents were alive. Then, after she is done, someone else comes out and sings a song that I don't recognize. Finally, Mrs. Soderlund comes out to introduce the last person.

"Please, everybody give a big hand for Peter Jefferson singing Tied Down!" She announces. My heart leaps in my chest as I watch him come out on stage, taking the microphone. He looks over the crowd and gives a small awkward little wave, bringing a few laughs from the people.

"These days, the lovers trade their places," Peter starts. "Dancing all around each other's chairs. I can see the numbness on their faces. Jealousy fills their hearts up in pairs. So please, could I be selfish with your body? 'Cause I don't think I could share it with nobody."

Chills go down my spine as I think about Christmas when he asked me that. He looks so soulful, so into the music. He moves a little bit, stepping forward, his eyes closed. He looks so peaceful, and I can't help but sit on the edge of my seat and grip Franny's hand, my mouth slightly open. I love the way he looks like this.

"Oh when I have you," Peter continues. "I'm gonna brand you with my lips, and all of the world will know that you're mine now. We'll never lose faith, 'cause we'll never forget this taste. My love has the power to keep you tied down. Oh, I'll get you tied down, tied down. Oh, I'll get you tied down, tied down."

"Holy shit," I mutter quietly, watching him flash a charming smile to the crowd. He really is charming, beautiful, very easy to like. My heart seems to be palpitating as I watch him, my chest feeling light, butterflies dancing in it. I've never felt like this about anyone. No one has ever made me feel so safe and yet so naked all at the same time. No one has ever made me feel so happy and raw. It's like, he looks at me and he cuts away all the bullshit in seconds. He breaks down all my walls, all my lies, just with a glance.

"Oh, late at night you'll hear the screaming echo," his deep and gravelly voice goes vibrato and chills go down my spine. "But we all pretend we never heard the cries in the daytime. Don't you worry, my touch won't leave you hollow. I'm never gonna let you change your mind. Oh, when I have you, I'm gonna brand you with my lips, and all of the world will know that you're mine now. We'll never lose faith, 'cause we'll never forget this taste. My love has the power to keep you tied down. Oh, I'll get you tied down, tied down. Oh, I'll get you tied down, tied down."

I bite my lip as I watch him move. Everything he does is so pretty. The way he moves across the stage, the way he shows emotion through his facial expressions. I want to hear him sing this and then kiss him. Holy shit, I could run up on that stage right now and kiss in front of everyone with no regret. He's so fucking beautiful.

"Don't be afraid to leave your mark." Peter runs his hand over his short hair. "Give me the scars to remind me just how good you are. And if your faith turns into dark, pull me closer and know that's enough to keep you tied down."

I run my hand across the hickeys that Peter left on my collar bones. He finishes the song and I am in awe. I can't process that the lights have gone up and he has left. I can't process that it's time to go. I can only sit there for a few seconds until Franny gently tugs my hand, snapping me out of my daze. I stand up and quickly follow her out of the auditorium and back into the cafeteria. I'm smiling like an idiot, messing with my tie and thinking about Peter's beautiful voice.

"You look awfully happy," James comments.

I bite my lip. "Peter is a really good singer."

"He really likes you, you know?" James says, smiling softly at me.

I sigh dreamily. "He's the first guy who's ever made me wanna like, commit to someone. God I just, I really like him too."

James nods. "Good. I've never seen him look so excited about someone. You are coming to the diner with us, right?"

I nod. "Of course I am."

James is about to say something, but then he cuts himself off and smiles. I'm about to turn around and see what he is looking at, but too quickly I scooped up in a pair of arms and spun around. I squeal, giggling as I place my hands over Peter's. He sets me down and pulls me into a kiss, making me blush and smile.

"Did you like it?" He asks, now out of his suit and in a pair of khaki joggers and a white tee shirt, as well as a black zip-up hoodie.

I nod. "I did."

"Franny told Theo that you were on the edge of your seat while I was singing," Peter teases. "Is that true? Did I impress mister 'I can paint and write and draw and I speak four languages and I have a great ass'? Huh? Did I?" Peter begins tickling me.

"Yes!" I laugh. "You did. You impressed me very much! Peter!"

He stops and plants a kiss on my forehead. "You're so pretty. Come on, let's go to the diner. Get some food in us."

"You're so desperate to get me alone, aren't you?" I ask, smiling.

He nods. "I really am. Come on."

"Wait, hold on, I wanna go say hi to Theo and Georges real quick, tell em they did good," I request.

"Oh, yeah, let's go," Peter nods. His slips his hand in my back pocket and I locate Theo and Franny first. I instantly embrace Theo, smiling as she hugs me back. Theo really is my best friend, and nothing's gonna change that. God help the mister who tries to get between me and my sister. Ain't nothing gonna break the bond that Theo and I have.

"Theo, I didn't know you could hit notes like that!" I squeal. "Since when are you this generation's Freddie Mercury? My God, I got chills. Goose Nips."

"Aw, you're too fucking sweet," she smiles. "You are coming to the diner with us, right?"

I nod. "Of course. My man is giving me a ride."

"Oh, since when am I your man?" Peter asks, a smile on his face.

"Since now," I state, smiling.

"Gross, you guys are too romantic," Theo complains, her arm around Franny, her head resting on Franny's shoulder while Franny plays with Theo's other free hand.

"Aw, I know, we suck," I mock. "Where's Georges? I wanna say hi to him and tell him he did well. Is he with his dad?"

"Yeah, right over there," Theo points out.

"Oh, take your jacket," Franny states, taking off my jacket that I gave her and handing it back to me. I thank her, then look around for a second before spotting Georges' hair. He's tall and his hair is a very specific mix of curly, so it's always really easy to spot him. That, and he's got a very loud French tinted voice.

I make my way through the crowd and walk up to Georges, gently embracing him. "Hey, you did super good, and you looked so fancy in your suit."

"Aw, thank you, Phillip," Georges smiles. "You coming to the diner afterward, yeah?"

"Of course I am, I'm catching a ride with this hot pocket right here," I laugh. "Peter and I are gonna take off, but we'll see you at the diner real soon, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," Georges mumbles.

I lean up and kiss his cheek. "You did real good, Georgie."

He smiles softly, pushing a bit of hair out of my face. "Thanks, Pip."

I wave to his parents, then take Peter's hand and let him lead me out of the school and into the parking lot. It takes a second of him looking around and racking his brain until he finally hits the alarm on his car keys and we follow the loud honking to his dark red Acura. I'm glad he's autostarted it, because it's really cold outside, and it's fairly nice to sit down on a heated seat.

"Mm, come here," Peter says, patting his lap as he gets in.

I laugh and climb over, sitting so I'm straddling his lap, my arms wrapped around his neck and my nose brushing his. "I've been wanting to be alone with you all night."

"Me too," Peter mumbles, gently planting a kiss on my lips. I kiss back, running my hands over his short hair. I miss his long hair. It was nice during sex because I could always tug on it. He looked good with dreads, but he hasn't shown any sign of wanting to grow it back since it got cut off.

"I miss your hair," I say against his lips.

"You think I should grow it out again? I kinda miss it too, but after what happened with that fucking referee, I don't really know." Peter shrugs and looks down a bit.

"I think you looked really good with the dreadlocks. I liked when you put the gold jewels around them, and then tie all of your dreads up in a thick ponytail and then the way they came down after you would take your football helmet off. Ooh, and I really liked tugging them while you fucked me," I list, smiling as I lean back against his steering wheel a bit.

"Ooh, now I really want to grow it out. Check it, this time next year, my hair will just be long enough to tie the dreads up in a ponytail, and then it's gonna take another two months for me to be able to have my hair long enough to dread it again." Peter laughs. "The shrinkage is fucking real."

"You're gonna look real good, and we can make sure you don't have another repeat of that fucking wrestling match. Jesus, that was real shitty," I mutter.

Peter shrugs. "It was my own fault. I should've looked more into it."

I shake my head. "It wasn't your fault. That referee was racist, and he was blatantly terrible to you. Next time anyone tries to threaten the existence of your hair, they'll have to go through me and my lawyer traits."

Peter snorts and begins kissing my neck. "Racism better put up its dukes. Phillip Hamilton is out and searching for blood."

I laugh, running my hand down his chest. "You're so pretty."

Peter nips my skin. "Not as pretty as you."

I let out small moan tilting my head back and Peter begins sucking on my skin. He nips and bites and sucks on the soft skin on my neck snaking his hand up my shirt and running his fingers over my nipple.

I jump when I lean back too far and honk the horn. Peter starts laughing and rests his head on my chest, his shoulders shaking from just how funny my jumpscare was. I smack his chest and whine, still laughing though.

"Don't be mean, that scared me," I mumble, bringing his head up for a kiss.

"I gave you the biggest fucking hickey, and I feel like I should tell you that before one of my parents pull down your collar and ask you who beat your neck with a baseball bat," Peter chuckles.

I gasp, bringing my hand to my neck. "Peter!"

"It looks super cute, though," Peter shrugs.

I chuckle, pulling out my phone. "Come on, we're gonna take a kissing selfie for my Snapchat, alright? I wanna brag about you, tonight."

Peter laughs and lets me pull up my Snapchat, then pulls me into a kiss as I snap a selfie. I lean against him, saving the selfie and then posting it. I pull up my phone again and request for Peter to smile. Peter does, closing his eyes and sticking out his tongue a bit as I snap a photo.

"You always close your eyes for pictures, why?" I ask, climbing back into my seat as he starts driving to the diner.

Peter shrugs. "I'm not like, it's just, I don't hate being in pictures, but I don't go out of my way to take selfies. Like I have no problem with taking pictures with you so I can brag about how cute you are, but when it's just like, I dunno, family photos or something, I usually just want to hide in the back. You get that?"

I nod. "Yeah, I get that. Am I allowed to take way more pictures than necessary of you tonight, though?"

Peter nods, laughing. "Yes, Phillip. You can be my picture taking exception."

"Cool, because that kissing selfie is gonna be my new background," I state, going onto my phone and changing the background.

"You know, you totally are a dork. Like, you're a full-on dork," Peter tells me, going a bit fast to make it through a red light.

"I am not!" I defend. "I'm just, I'm just weird. Have you seen my parents? The two things I grew up listening to at the dinner table were baby sea creatures and double homicides! Of course, I'm a little eccentric, but don't say you never got a warning. You've known me your whole life, and I've known you my whole life."

"I've known you since I was five," Peter corrects.

"Oh yeah, I forgot that like, you came in later," I say softly. "I think we kinda just met as kids and were like, instantly friends, though you were pretty shy. I remember, you were still struggling with your English, and so my dad would always help you out, quiz you on English words. You were such a cute little kid."

"You forget that I still struggle with my English," Peter jokes. "I speak Swahili with my baba and then I'll go to school and like, forget words. I was writing an essay for English and I accidentally wrote four paragraphs in Swahili. Mr. King was real nice about it, let me translate it."

"You never speak it in public. Like, I'll see you start to say something to your baba in Swahili but then you'll switch back to English," I point out.

Peter shrugs. "My baba and I are immigrants, and yeah, this country has progressed, but it's still a little freaky. You still hear about Muslim women getting assaulted, and I just don't want that kind of attention. I'm not ashamed to be from Africa, and I'm not ashamed of my heritage, I just don't want to be hurt for it."

I nod, reaching across and taking his hand. "I get that. So, what diner are we going to?"

"EJ's Luncheonette," Peter says, taking his hands off the wheel momentarily to do jazz hands. "It's just a greasy little place, real nice though. Good food. I don't know how well they cater to vegan people, but I'm sure you can have a salad and fries or something, yeah? And then they probably have like, juice or something."

I laugh as he pulls off of Park Ave and onto east 73 street. "So considerate."

"Of course," Peter states. "I wouldn't want my little rabbit going hungry."

"Ain't nothing wrong with being vegan," I say, offering a knowing smirk.

"No there ain't," Peter agrees, pulling into the restaurant. "I think we're the first one's here, so let's go find a big booth. They usually aren't too crowded this late at night." We get out of the car and Peter grabs my hand as we walk in. "You want me to drop you off at your house after this?"

I shake my head. "Parents will probably be up talking about their couples therapy or something. I don't want to bother them. You know D & D junkyard?"

Peter nods. "Yeah, that's around where your drug dealer lives, and William Frazier, right? I've been around there a couple of times with some friends."

"Just drop me off there. I'm friends with a few people there, so I'll probably spend the night with them. My friend, El, he's always real nice," I state. "Just friends, by the way."

"I wasn't worried. You told me, when things settle down, that's when you'd be ready," Peter states, pulling me into a big booth. "Until then, you do what you want."

"Uh, well, things have settled down," I state. "Things are settled."

Peter looks up at me, his lips pursed and his eyes wide. "Things are really settled? Like, you're sure? I don't want to rush you into anything."

"Things are settled," I mumble again, gently taking his hand in mine.

Slowly, a smile gently creeps over his face. He pulls me into a kiss, his hand gently caressing my cheek. He pulls away after a few seconds and looks at me. "Would you, Phillip Hamilton, do the honor of being my boyfriend?"

I giggle and lean up, kissing him again. "Boyfriend," I whisper. "I like that."

"My boyfriend is Phillip Hamilton," Peter sighs. "I love saying that."

"Kiss me again," I whisper.

Peter doesn't waste a second, pulling me into his arms and pressing his lips to mine. I tug him closer by his scarf, opening my mouth so he can have entrance. He tastes like coffee and Ricola cough drops. He always refers to cough drops as musician candy, and I think the boy is in a constant stock of cough drops. He always has a bag in his locker, his room, his car, and wherever else he can put them. I'm pretty sure he has a secret stash in the library, and the choir room, but it's never been confirmed.

"That's gay!" I hear Theo's voice call out.

Peter and I break away and smile as she enters with Franny and her parents. They sit down in the large half circle booth, informing us that Peter's parents and the Lafayettes are right behind them. Peter gently takes my hand and leans back, waving a waitress over and asking for water for the table, telling her about the five more people coming.

"Hey, Theo," I whisper, nudging her.

"Yeah, gorgeous?" She smiles lazily, resting her chin on her hand and looking over at me. "What secrets does my little fae with to share with me?"

I laugh and lean in closer. "Peter and I are together. Officially."

Her eyes widen and she smacks the table. "Gay!"

"Theo, what on earth?" Aaron asks.

"Phillip's dating a boy! That's gay!" Theo exclaims.

Franny begins laughing and water comes out of her nose. I reach forward to get a napkin and then knock over my water glass, spilling it over the table and into mine and Theo's laps. Peter begins laughing and Dosia just puts her head down on the table while Aaron throws napkins at us, yelling about how we don't want the waitresses to have to deal with the fact that we're incompetent gays.

"We literally cannot leave you guys alone," says an exasperated Lafayette, coming over and instantly beginning to help wipe up the table as Theo and I mop up our pants.

"Shit, sorry girl," I say as I hand her more napkins.

She shakes her head. "It's just water. Nothing like the time we were in the art room carrying big buckets of paint and you slipped and brought me down with you, spilling red and blue paint all over us."

I laugh, dabbing some water off of me. "That was a mess."

"What was the chain of events that caused this?" Georges sighs.

"Theo yelled 'gay' and then Franny spilled water from her nose and then Phillip spilled water and then you guys showed up," Aaron states.

"Water dries," I shrug.

"You are a gay disaster," Peter deadpans.

"You all are devalidating my slight bisexuality," I complain.

"Pardon, you are a bisexual mess," Peter corrects, laughing. "This is why I always carry around a first aid kit, because my boyfriend is always getting hurt, making a mess, something."

"Boyfriend?" Georges looks up, staring at us.

"Oh yeah, I finally offered the Hamilton's the proper nine goats Phillip was worth, so he's now my wife. He will bare my son, and then I will leave him in the desert," Peter explains.

"Excuse me, I'm worth at least twelve goats," I defend.

"Did you not just witness this?" Peter teases. "You would be worth twelve goats if you weren't the clumsy disaster I just saw knock over a glass of water."

I stick out my tongue at him and scoot over so Georges can sit down next to Peter. Peter grabs my thigh, and sips his water as a waitress comes over and hands us our menus, setting two own for Peter's parents. We don't want to order without them, but ten minutes goes by and they're still not here, so we order food and drinks, Peter ordering for them.

"I'm gonna call them," Herc states. He pulls out his phone and presses it to his ear. We wait a few seconds, then a large smirk comes over Herc's face. "Damn! Thomas! You go man! We got worried about you, but you and James are obviously doing just fine on your own! Glad everything still works down there."

"Oh, ew!" Peter yells. "Herc, don't yell that in front of their kid!"

Hercules laughs. "Alright, well I'm gonna let you go. Hurry it up, we have food for y'all. Tell James I said hi! Get it, man."

"Blehg," Peter grumbles. "That's gross. Parent sex."

"I still have you beat in that department," I point out.

"You do," Peter sighs. "And for that, you have gone through more than veterans."

I roll my eyes as a waitress comes over and sets down out food. I didn't get a lot since there wasn't a lot I could have, but a salad without dressing, some fries, and some water is just fine. Peter offers me some of his cheeseburger, but I gag and take a bite of my 'rabbit food.'

"You guys are too gross," Theo laughs, pushing my shoulder.

"At least we're not like you and Franny, with your cute cliche dates and adorable love and whatnot. At least Peter and I had the decency to like, keep it on the downlow," I I shoot back.

"Ha! Y'all were like, the opposite of downlow," Theo points out.

"She is right, babe, we didn't exactly try to hide the fact that we liked each other," Peter says, his mouth full of burger.

"Wait, so are you guys actually dating? Because I never got a solid answer," Georges asks. "Like, you just started talking about goats."

"Yes, as of..." Peter checks his phone. "Fifteen minutes ago, we are dating."

"Aw, happy fifteen minute anniversary, love," I smile, leaning up and kissing his cheek.

"How did that happen?" Georges asks, creasing his brows.

I shrug. "I dunno, we've been flirting for like, two years, and then we like, uh, we never really fessed up about liking each other, we sort of just decided that we were gonna start dating at one point."

"No, you fessed up when we were Christmas shopping," Peter chuckles. "We waited a bit though because things are hectic, but now, on the fifteenth of January, which I need to mark in my calendar, I can officially say that I am dating Phillip Hamilton."

"High five," I joke, holding my hand up.

Peter, rolling his eyes, claps my hand. "I still have the receipt. I can still return you."

"You wouldn't dream of it," I tease.

"We are here!" Thomas yells loudly from the doorway. He looks disheveled and a bit askew, while James looks perfectly normal, put together, and ready to walk into a business meeting. Peter gags and I laugh at him, leaning against him as Thomas dramatically sits down and James much more modestly seats himself next to his husband.

"You guys are gross," Peter says.

"You go, man," Herc nods, hi fiving Thomas. "Age can't stop us from anything."

"Gross!" Peter yells.

"Yeah!" Georges agrees. "Enough about parent sex! We'll start talking about our sex lives if y'all don't shut up!"

I look at Georges, giving him a raised eyebrow, then quietly mouth 'what sex life.'

"Asshole!" Georges yells, smiling.

I laugh, leaning back. "You love me, Georgie. Okay, can we all like, as a table, acknowledge Theo's vocal range? Like, damn girl. You just, you hit those notes."

"I got four octaves of range, honey," Theo smirks.

"We know," Aaron sighs. "Every time you shower, even at four in the morning, we here you hitting every note to every song that comes on. I don't know where she got that because both Dosia and I are like, the opposite. We have a vocal range of three notes, while Theo can hit any and every note out there."

"I'm a magical fairy, y'all got nothing on me," Theo jokes.

"I'm glad our son knows what food we eat so we can show up late," Thomas chuckles, taking a bit of his burger.

"Yeah, I get it, I'm awesome," Peter sighs.

Dinner goes by, and soon enough I'm back in Peter's car, laughing as the two of us belt out the lyrics to Another One Bites The Dust. Peter is shocked to see I know all the lyrics to this beautiful song by Freddie Mercury. I even air guitar the bass line, since that's the one thing I can play on the bass that Dosia has.

"What a gay icon," I say, sitting back and turning down the radio as the song ends.

"Freddie Mercury was gay?" Peter asks.

I sit up, gasping. "Yes! Well, not totally. He was an openly bisexual man in the eighties! He wrote gay anthems like We Are The Champions, We Will Rock You, he was music that everyone could love! Oh my god, he was an icon."

"Wow, I didn't know you liked him so much," Peter nods.

I chuckle and watch as he passes the empire state building, which I can see from the few blocks away as he drives me to the D & D junkyard salvage. "All music from the eighties was good. I mean, Prince, Bowie, Queen, Michael Jackson, Elton John, Guns N Roses, Cyndi Lauper. All were icons."

"Hold on," Peter says. "You can't honestly tell me you like Cyndi Lauper."

"I do!" I defend. "She's good! Call me basic, but I love Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."

"Oh, I'm totally calling you basic," Peter laughs, slowing down in traffic. "All the fucking places to grow up, and we're stuck in Manhattan."

"New York city," I sigh.

"Uh huh," Peter agrees.

"The center of the universe," I continue.

He looks at me, a smirk on his face. "Sing it, girl."

"Times are shitty, but I'm pretty sure they can't get any worse," I laugh.

"I hear that," Peter mumbles, starting to drive again as the light turns green.

"It's a comfort to know," I giggle. "When you're singing the hit the road blues, that anywhere else you could possibly go after New York would be... A pleasure cruise."

"Now you're talking!" Peter cheers. "Man, we really are gay. I mean, I hate to fill that stereotype, but we break into song whenever we can. You're lucky I like you."

"And I know that if you liked me too..." I look at him, smiling.

Peter turns to me and we both begin singing in unison. "What a wonderful world this would be!"

"God, we're so gay," I whisper as I see him near the junkyard.

"We are," Peter agrees. "Hey, be safe, alright? I don't need you getting banged up or anything. Call me if you need a ride, alright?"

"Yeah, I got you," I say, smiling as he pulls up to the side of the street.

"Hey, Hamilton," he whispers, taking my hand.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"You promise you know?" He mumbles, pulling me a bit closer.

I smile, planting a small kiss on his lips and placing my hand behind his neck. "I promise I know. You promise you know?"

"Yeah, I promise I know," he mumbles. His hand gently brushes my thigh and he pulls me into a kiss. I kiss back happily, smiling as he runs his tongue over my bottom lip. I open my mouth and let him stick his tongue in my mouth, bringing a moan from my mouth. Sweat breaks on my chest and I feel a bit of pressure in my hips, so, deciding that I don't want to keep him for too long, I pull away and run my hand over his short hair.

"See you tomorrow, killer," I smile.

"See you tomorrow, lovely," he replies.


	32. Everyone has at least one (1) mental snap in their lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings throughout the chapter for some noncon

Phillip

I plant one more kiss on Peter's lips, then get out and walk into the junkyard, looking for El. I find him quickly, sitting with Rufus and Gov. Gov is leaning against El, obviously drunk, kissing his neck. El looks very flustered and almost nervous, so I decide to save him.

"Hey!" I say happily sitting on a milk crate next to El.

"Pip, what are you doing here?" Gov asks, smiling as he leans over El's lap, resting his hand on El's upper thigh.

"Just came from a big thing, missed you guys," I state.

"You look, you look real fuckin' happy," Rufus points out. "And better. Kid, you're fucking glowing. What changed? You look, you look happy."

I smile and shrug. "Things are better. Parents are working a bunch of shit out, I got a boyfriend, I'm managing and all that shit."

"You got a boyfriend?" El says, smiling as he pushes Gov off of him.

I sigh happily, pulling out my phone and pulling up a picture of Peter. "Isn't he gorgeous? We met when we were five and started hooking up in our sophomore year, and then we sort of just, I dunno. A bunch of shit happened, and he was really there for me, and we kinda just, accidentally caught feelings for each other. You know?"

"Aw, Phillip got a boyfriend, I was gonna get me one of those," Gov sighs.

"What'd you do with the one you had?" El jokes.

"Well he's sitting right next to me he's just too shy," Gov complains.

My eyes widen and I look to El, remembering a wisp of him telling me that he liked Gov. El just chuckles, blood rushing to his light brown colored cheeks, and scoots a bit away from Gov, then pulls out his pipe. His hands are a bit shaky as he loads it up and pulls out his lighter. He doesn't look scared, per se, just anxious.

"Are you good?" I ask.

He nods. "I just, I get anxiety sometimes, especially when it comes to the idea of people liking me, and so I smoke weed. Besides, I think Gov is too high to really know what he's saying. You want something, kid? I got, fucking, uh, I got weed and liquor. A few pills, but I'm selling those."

"You know I'm always down to smoke," I laugh.

"Puff pass," El requests, taking a hit and then handing the pipe to me.

"I got you," I laugh, putting the pipe to my mouth and breathing in heavily. Hot smoke fills my lungs and burns the top, making my eyes water as I try to hold it in as long as possible before exhaling with a dramatic cough.

"You good, kid?" El laughs, taking the pipe from my hand.

I nod, smiling. "Yeah, of course, I'm good. Sometimes I just, you know."

"Yeah, I still cough sometimes too," El chuckles, putting his pipe to his lips. He inhales and blows the smoke out, then hands it back to me. "You ever vaped?"

I shake my head. "I've hit a bong before, but never vaped."

"Okay, it's such a douchebag thing to do, but it doesn't set off the fire alarm at my work and I'm trying to quit smoking, so I just need a nicotine fix sometimes," El explains, pulling out what I recognize to be a vape. He hands the surprisingly heavy thing to me. "Okay, press that button and then breathe in."

I press it and breath in. It feels weird, like smoke but not as hot, almost relaxing. I take a long hit from it and then breath out through my nose. "Wow."

"You're gonna get kinda dizzy in a second, so don't freak. It's just the nicotine high." El takes his vape back and hands me the pipe. For a while, we just stay quiet, both of us trading between the vape and the pipe. Slowly, my body relaxes and I lean against El, smiling. He ruffles my hair and hands me the vape as I give him the pipe.

"Where did Gov go?" I ask.

El points to Gov, who's lying on the ground, passed out. "Told you he was pissed."

I laugh. "Jesus, does he just get high every night?"

El nods. "He does. So, tell me about this boyfriend."

I shrug, my mouth curving up into a smile. "He's, uh, he's real nice. Didn't rush me into anything. Um, to be honest, I didn't think I was gonna end up with him, I thought I was gonna be with this other guy who I've known longer, but he kinda just, he started being a real piece of shit to me, so I just, I dunno, I didn't like him as much. Then my mans, he uh, he really stepped up. He would pick up the phone and let me cry and talk about my worst nights. It really helps that his dick is big and he knows how to fucking use it. I dunno, he just, it takes a lot sometimes to make me feel good about myself, and when I'm with him, I just, I feel good. He makes me feel good about myself, and I really needed that in a guy."

"Lemme see another picture of him," El requests.

I pull out my phone and show him the kissing selfie. "Ain't he just, just so freakin cute?"

"Awh," El says, nudging me. "I'm real happy for you, Pip. I'm glad you're with a guy for real. I think that'll get you out of some dangerous situations. Speaking of dangerous situations, what's Eaker been like? I haven't really seen him recently."

I shrug. "We haven't talked. He asked for nudes a couple of times, but it was easy to come up with some excuse. At one point he asked me for nudes while Peter was balls deep in me, so I very easily told him I was busy."

"Good," El says. "You know, I worry about you kid. You're really good, and I've seen you around town. Saw you with two older gals, them your moms?"

I laugh. "No, I have two dads, not two moms. They're my aunts, real nice."

"You look like you got some good family," El says.

I nod. "I do." I stand up, popping my back. "I gotta piss, so I'm gonna go behind that car over there. Be right back."

"Alright, kid," El chuckles.

I walk around a few people, to a car that has been designated as the pisser. Sighing, I unbutton my pants and take my dick out, relaxing and letting myself pee as I tilt my head back, staring up at the stars. When I finish, I shake a bit, then zip my pants back up. I'm about to turn and walk back to El when a figure blocks me.

"Hey, Pip, it's been a while," says Eaker, his voice casual.

I nod. "Yeah, it has. How've you been?"

"Good," Eaker nods. His hands go to my hips and he pulls me closer to him. "I've missed you. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

I laugh nervously, pushing on his chest. "Not here. I was hanging with El, so, I'd like to get back to that."

"Come on baby," Eaker whispers, grinding his hips against mine. I can smell the liquor on his breath. It's strong. "I'm so hard for you."

"Yeah, okay, I don't care," I mumble, looking down.

He grabs my wrist and then pulls down his pants and boxers a bit. "Just touch it, please."

"Eaker, let me go," I say sternly, fighting against him.

"Come on," he begs, pushing me against the car and pushing his knee between my legs. His lips begin kissing down my neck, his hot breath spilling over my skin.

"No, Eaker, stop it," I mumble. "Please, I just, I just got into a relationship and I don't-"

I'm cut off my Eaker putting his hand over my mouth. Nope. Nope. Not okay. Don't like this. Don't like this at all. I don't want to do this, and I'm not going to do this because I don't want to. Eaker is not going to make me do this.

I begin squirming as much as I can, screaming under his hand, trying to get him off of me. It doesn't seem to both him as he begins grinding against me, holding my wrists in the hand that isn't covering my mouth. Tears come to my eyes as I realize that I can't stop him. This isn't like Jacky. I don't have the muscle I usually do, I don't have the strength I usually do. Eaker is grown, and he is twice my size. I'm completely and utterly fucked.

"There we go," Eaker mutters as I go still, removing his hand from my mouth. "Come on, I just wanna finish."

"Just let me suck you off," I say quietly.

"Good boy," he mutters.

I sink to my knees and take him in my mouth, closing my eyes and trying to think about anything but what I'm doing. My mind drifts to Peter. Oh my God, Peter. I'm cheating on Peter. At this thought, I try to pull away from Eaker but he pushes me back down. Tears come to my eyes and a sob breaks in my chest. Eaker doesn't seem to notice and keeps pushing my head down until he comes. I stand up quickly, tears rolling down my cheeks. My heart is beating so fast, and my chest feels like it won't expand. I wipe my cheeks and make eye contact with Eaker, my hands shaking.

"Don't look at me like that," he scoffs.

"Like what?" I mutter.

"Like I just, like I fucking raped you or some shit," Eaker growls.

"I didn't fucking want to do that," I snap. "You made me do that, so don't tell me how to look at you, when that's basically what you did."

"Whatever, Phillip," Eaker laughs. "I know you. You'll spread your legs to anything with a pulse. Don't give me some 'I didn't want to do that' bullshit."

I really want to punch him in the face, but I know that'll end badly, so I just walk away. My hands are still shaking, and my mouth still tastes like come. I run into someone else, someone I don't know, and I almost jump, ready to defend myself, but then they steady me.

"Hey, kid, you look rough," they say, holding me at arm's length.

I nod.

"Here, one for now, one for later," the person says, handing me two bags. Both hold three little white pills. "It's just some opioids," the person continues. "But, I've found they help."

"Should I pay you?" I ask.

They shake their head. "Just, feel better, kid."

I nod and continue my trek back to El. I don't know exactly where I'm going for a second, but as I take the pills, I spot El, sitting on the bench with Gov singing loudly. I smile sort of and walk over. El doesn't say anything about how long I was gone when I sit down, he just smiles at me and goes back to watching Gov sing. I lean against him and close my eyes, trying to get the taste of come out of my mouth.

"You got anything to drink?" I finally ask.

He nods. "Yeah, just some bourbon, yeah?"

I sigh. "That'll do."

He hands me his flask and I take a large sip, coughing as the liquor slides down my throat. I hand back his flask and grown, placing my hand over my stomach. I reach out and grab the pipe in El's hand, taking a large hit and then handing it back to him.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks.

I nod. "I'm just tired, you know?"

"You wanna go home?" He mumbles, gently placing his arm around me.

I nod.

"Okay, come on, my car is parked out front. I gotta take Gov back to my place since he's too high to stay here alone," El jokes. He helps me up and then takes Gov in his other arm, guiding both of us to an old beat up car. I get in the front seat while Gov lays down in the back and El gets into the driver seat. For someone who has been smoking all night, he looks really sober.

"Do you even like, get drunk?" I ask, fiddling with the radio.

He laughs. "It takes a lot, but yes, I can occasionally get drunk or high or whatever. I've been smoking since, God since I can remember, so I have a high tolerance."

I groan and lean back, finally finding the eighties station. "I feel like shit."

"Did something happen? Because your mood kinda did a one-eighty," El mumbles, reaching over and gently placing his hand on my shoulder.

I shrug.

"Hey, kid, if something happened, you should tell someone," El mumbles.

Another shrug comes from me. "Just, ran into Eaker, he gave me a bit of trouble, it's fine. I'm fine. It's all fine."

"Do you..." El pauses, thinking. "Do you like, see someone? Like a therapist or something? You know, someone to talk to?"

I wave my hand. "Used to. I'm fine though. Shit's fine."

"You can't keep saying that, Phillip," El mumbles quietly. "Something is obviously wrong. Something obviously happened."

I shake my head. "I just need to go home."

El nods and lets me type in my address to his phone, then begins driving. I lean against the window, wringing my hands together. El is quiet, but I can tell he's worried about me. I try to ignore it though, watching the New York nightlife go by. It's about midnight, since the choir concert didn't end until later, and then dinner lasted a while. My parents are asleep, hopefully in the same room, because that means they aren't really fighting.

"Alright, kid, you got a key?" El asks as he pulls up to my house.

I shake my head. "I just sneak in. I gotta climb a latter."

"Yeah, you see, you don't look very in shape to climb anything though right now," El points out.

I shake my head, getting out of the car. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you, I'll see you whenever, alright?"

"Yeah, don't come around too often," El states. "We don't have to get high every time we hang out. You can just, like, I dunno, we can get coffee or something. You know, be normal. New York has plenty of things to do, and things can get pretty trippy with no drugs involved, so let's do that, next time, yeah?"

I nod, then wave before closing the door. El stays for a little bit, watching me stumble into my backyard before I hear him drive away. I feel incredibly nauseous, and even more so as I begin climbing. I make it up, just about to the second floor before my foot slips and my other one gets caught in the ladder for a second, then releases as I fall eight feet to the ground on my back. For a second, I can't breathe. My head is spinning, pain is flushing through my body. A ringing sets itself in my ears and I lie there for god knows how long.

"No ladder," I mumble, sitting up. I stand and feel a pressure in the ankle, but ignore it as I quietly open the back door and step inside. I take my shoes off and quietly climb the creaking steps, past my parent's room, up to my bedroom. It's an intense struggle to get my jeans off, and then an even intenser struggle to get my tie off. Finally, I'm unbuttoning my dress shirt and lying down, pulling a blanket over my almost naked body and drifting off.

My alarm blares way too early in the morning. I pull my blankets over my head and groan, feeling vomit come to the back of my throat. I swallow it down and sit up, bringing my hand to my head, which pounds slightly. It's way too cold in my room, so I'm quick to slip out of my bed to find a sweater.

"Fuck," I mutter, falling on my ass as pain shoots through my ankle. I look down to see that it's bruised and swollen. Probably from last night when I fell from a story up off of a latter. Shit, my back is killing me. Everything hurts.

The small plastic bag of three pills flashes through my head and I reach into my pants pocket, which has been discarded on the floor. I take out the pills and swallow them quickly, pulling my blankets off my bed and curling up on the floor, waiting for them to set in. My head pounds as I bundle up some of my blankets to use as a makeshift pillow. It doesn't take too long for the waves of euphoria to hit me and the headache to leave, numbing down my ankle too.

I stand up and find a pair of black jeans and a sweater. I slip those on as well as some socks, and go downstairs, only feeling a slight pinch from my ankle. I make it to the kitchen after brushing my teeth and find some coffee.

"Hey, kid, how was your night?" My dad asks, sipping his coffee.

I shrug. "Wasn't bad. Got home late though, so I'm kinda tired."

My dad smiles. "Well, take a to-go mug of coffee, you look like you need it."

I laugh. "Yeah, for real. Is pop up yet?"

A nod comes from my dad. "Yeah, he's up, just getting dressed or something. You look pretty tired. You sure you don't wanna stay home?"

I nod. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Morning, family," my pop says cheerily, coming down the stairs with his hair damp and his uniform on. "Pip, how was your night?"

"It was fine, uneventful," I shrug. "Though Peter and I are officially official."

"Officially official," my dad mocks playfully. "You sound very tired, kid."

I'm just really high. "Ha, yeah. I'm gonna head out, get to the subway station. I'll see you guys tonight. Love you."

"Hey," my pop says. "Congrats on you and Peter, though I can't say I'm surprised. Love you too, kid."

I wave before slipping on my shoes and grabbing my bag, heading out the door. It's hard to stay upright as I walk down the cold New York street, my ankle feeling like TV static. I ignore it as I get down to the subway, sitting on a bench and staring at the tracks until my train gets here. I get on and wait a couple stops until we arrive at my school. I get out and walk down the street a little longer until I find myself in the courtyard of my school.

"Pip!" Theo calls. "Hey, gorgeous, you look tired."

I groan, leaning against her. "I think I fucked up my ankle last night, could you look at it?"

She nods. "Yeah, sure. Come here."

We go to a bench and I pull down my sock and pull up my pant leg. Theo gasps and rears back, her eyes wide, then gets close, gently running her fingers over the bruise. She instructs me to take my shoe off, and I let her gently wrap me up with some thin fabric bandaged, not too tightly though.

"You really should be taping it up," she mumbles. "How are you even walking?"

I shrug. "It's fine. It doesn't hurt too bad."

"Are you on something?" She looks up at me. "Are you, like, are you just okay? You look like shit, and your pupils are pinpoint. Did something happen last night? Did Peter do something?"

I shake my head rapidly. "No, no Peter was wonderful. I just, I was hanging out with a few friends I knew afterward, and some guy I knew kinda messed with me a bit. It's fine, I just made a couple bad choices."

"Are you on pills? Because Georges said you kinda overdosed on pills at his house once, like he picked you up and you started overdosing, and then his papa knew you were on something like pills, and you promised not to do them ever again," Theo rambles, finishing up my bandaging.

"I'm fine," I mutter.

"Pip, what happened last night?" Theo asks softly.

I look down, trying to blink away tears in my eyes. Images of Eaker come to my head. The way he touched me, squeezed my wrists until it felt like they were going to break, kissed my neck, covered my mouth, hurt me. I don't know if it counts as cheating, or if Eaker forced me into something. I mean, I didn't want to do it, but I didn't have to get on my knees for the guy. Then again, he was going to do something to me no matter what.

"Hey," Theo whispers, pulling me into a hug.

"I just, I didn't cheat on Peter. I, I didn't want to cheat on Peter. I, I just-"

"Oh, no, Phillip," Theo whispers. "No, honey, shh. It's okay. It's okay. Deep breaths. You gotta tell me what happened? What's going on, hun? What happened?"

"Hey, guys!" I hear Georges' voice say. I quickly pull away from Theo and wipe my eyes, getting rid of any smeared eyeliner, not wanting Georges to know I've been crying. I really don't want him to know what happened. I don't know what he'll say, but I'm scared it's going to be something cruel, and I really don't need that right now.

"Hey," I mumble.

"Are you okay?" Georges asks.

I nod, laughing. "Yeah, I just fucked up my ankle a little bit and it hurts. Luckily, Doctor Theo Burr wrapped it up."

"You..." Theo pauses. "You get your shoe back on before your toes get frostbite."

I chuckle, though it sounds broken, and begin to slip my other black sneaker back on. "Will do."

"Is Peter gonna show up?" She asks.

I shake my head. "He's got wrestling practice in the morning. It ends like ten minutes before class starts, so he's gonna be busy for the next fifteen minutes."

"Alright, well, are you hungry?" Georges asks.

I shake my head. "I could kill for some more coffee though."

"Ooh, here," Theo chimes, pulling out a thermos. I take a sip of the hot bitter liquid and sigh, leaning against her. She gently plays with my hair, letting me sip her coffee and rest my eyes, while she makes conversation with Georges. Finally, though, she's helping me up, saying something about class starting soon.

"Mmf, I shoulda stayed home," I groan.

"You really should have. You wanna go lay down in the nurse's office and I'll call your parents?" Georges asks softly, placing his hand on my arm as we put our stuff away in our lockers, then begin to go to the science hallway so Goerges can put his stuff away and we can probably meet up with Peter.

I groan again and shake my head. "I'm fine. I just, I'm fine."

"Okay, but if you start falling asleep in English class, I'm gonna drag you to the nurse's office," Georges jokes, gently bumping me.

"You obviously forget how stubborn I am," I smile. "A bum leg isn't going to stop me from putting up a fight."

"Lousy crip's just too damn slow!" Theo cries in a heavy New Yorker accent.

"I don't want anyone to see, I ain't been walking so good," I reply.

We both make eye contact and then loudly sing "Santa Fe! You can bet! We won't let them bastards beat us!"

"Well that's the gayest thing I've ever seen," Peter laughs, coming up to us, smelling like his body wash. He always showers after practice because he'll get really sweaty and well, we're all teenagers and we smell when we get sweaty, so Peter keeps shower stuff in his gym locker.

"Mm, my boy," I mutter, instantly leaning against his chest and curling up.

"Hey, darling, are you okay?" He asks softly.

"'M tired," I mutter.

"And he like, fucked up his ankle," Theo chuckles. "I wrapped that shit up, but it's practically purple."

"This is breaking doctor-patient confidentiality," I complain, side-eyeing Theo from Peter's chest. "And it's just a bit of a bruise. I took some painkillers, I'm fine."

"How did that even happen?" Georges asks.

I laugh. "Well, I went and I hung out with a few other friends, and we got really high, and then I tried climbing the ladder up to my room, but then I fell from the second story, so now I want all of you to remember not to climb things that go up when you're on like, three different drugs. It'll leave you gimpy."

"Phillip!" Peter exclaims. "You, you really gotta be more careful. Jesus. Come on, I'll walk you to class, alright?"

I smile, leaning into him and gently waving to Theo and Georges. Theo shoots me a look that basically screams 'talk to him.' I shake my head and let Peter guide me to my History class. I don't let him go yet since the tardy bell hasn't even rung. Peter chuckles, taking my face in his hands and looking at me. Staring into his deep chocolate eyes, I begin to think about last night. I think about Eaker's hands pulling on my hair, forcing me against the car. My eyes fill up with tears and I step back from Peter, my breathing speeding up.

"Hey, whoa, are you okay?" Peter asks.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God, I just..." I trail off, looking at Peter. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, what happened after I dropped you off?" Peter asks. "Or was it something I did? Are you not ready to be in a relationship, because if not, I can-"

I wave my hand. "No, no, it's not you. I promise, I fucking..." I trail off, my head spinning for a second. "It's not you. I just, some guy I knew fucking, he uh, he messed with me a bit last night, and I just, it's a little fucked up. I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm tired."

"Hey, whoa, okay, you should probably go home then," Peter mumbles. "I, I really think you should go home. Do you need a ride? Come on, let's go."

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I'm fine. I just, I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

Peter nods, gently taking his hand. "Yeah, okay." He gently plants a kiss on my forehead, then begins walking away as the tardy bell rings. "Stay safe, Hamilton."

"You too, Jefferson," I reply.

I step into class and sit down, instantly putting my head down on the desk to sleep. The first half of the day goes by, and lunch ends, so Georges and I are walking to English. I can feel the painkillers start to wear off as I sit down at my desk. I put my English textbook onto the desk and set my head down. My body starts to feel nauseous but I swallow it down and close my eyes, listening to Mr. King's voice. I don't mean to fall asleep, but my sweater is just so warm, and I can't help but drift off into a dreamland.

"Hey, Pip, class is over," I hear a voice say.

I shoot up and see Georges standing there. "Oh, fuck."

"Yeah, come on, we're going to the nurse," Georges sighs.

I wave my hand and go to stand up. What I didn't realize was that the pills I took this morning had fully worn off, and the ankle that I most likely sprained was no longer numbed out. So, as I stepped down, a pain shot through my body. I hit the floor almost immediately, crying out and clutching my ankle. Tears come to my eyes as I lean forward, pressing my head against my knee and trying to calm down.

"Whoa, Phillip, are you alright?" Mr. King asks, quickly coming over.

"Alright, time to go to the nurse," Georges mumbles.

"What happened?" Mr. King asks as Georges pulls me up.

"I just, I hurt myself doing stupid kid stuff," I mumble. "Georges, really, I'm fine. I don't need to go to the nurse."

"Yeah you do, hun," Georges mumbles. He looks at our teacher. "I got him, don't worry. He'll be at the nurse's office in a jiffy, then home with any luck."

"Alright," Mr King nods. "Feel better, Pip."

I nod and begin walking to the nurse's office, leaning against Georges. Vomit creeps up my throat but I swallow it back down. My back has a cold sweat running down it, and my body just feels overall sick and uncomfortable. We make it to the nurse's office in time though, and sit down in the waiting area, seeing that the nurse was busy helping another kid with a bloody nose. No doubt caused by a fight that I'll be seeing the film too sooner or later.

"Whatcha doing?" I ask as Georges pulls out his phone.

"Calling your pop," Georges replies.

"Wait, hold on, I don't need to-"

"Hey, John!" Georges says, cutting me off. "Hey, I have Phillip in the nurse's office with me. I think he needs to go home." Georges pauses. "He hurt his ankle real bad, and he just overall looks tired and sick, so I think it would be best if he mosied on home. Unfortunately, I'm not a legal guardian, or I would drive him home" Another pause. "Ten minutes? Alright, see you then. Okay. Buh bye."

I groan as Georges hangs up. "You didn't have to do that."

"I did," Georges mumbles.

"Hey, sweetie, what can I do for you?" The nurse asks.

"Hey, he's feeling really sick and he hurt his ankle really bad, his pop is coming to pick him up in a few, could he get a room to lie down in?" Georges requests. "Maybe some gauze and tape for his foot, as well as some ice?"

The nurse nods and Georges helps walk me to a back room where I sit down, kicking off my shoe with the hurt ankle. The nurse unwraps Theo's gentle bandaging before wrapping my ankle and the arch of my foot in gauze, then taping it up, making sure there is no possible way my ankle will be able to move too drastically. She gets me some ice and leaves Georges and me in the small back room.

"So," Georges starts. "You and Peter."

"I've had like, eighty people ask me that in the past two days. Am I really so not interesting that the only thing people can talk to me about is my relationship status?" I laugh.

Georges chuckles and gently takes my hand. "Sorry, sorry. Uh, are you okay?"

"Of course not," I mumble. "I'm coming off an opioid high and I'm like, about to vomit. I'm a fucking wreck right now Georges."

"Hey," Georges mumbles quietly. "No, you're not a wreck. It's okay. You're okay. Hey, you, it's just, you're gonna be okay. Was it a bad night last night? Was something wrong?"

I shake my head. "It was great. Peter dropped me off to hang with some friends, and it was great. Some guy fucked with me, but that's it."

"What do you mean he fucked with you?" Georges asks.

"He was just..." I trail off, thinking. "He was a meanie. A big ass fucking meanie."

Georges chuckles. "You are ridiculous. Are you good?"

I nod. "I'll be fine. I just gotta, I gotta get out of here. New York is killing me, Georges. I can't live here anymore. I wanna, I wanna close my eyes and go. Right away. I'm gonna go to California, China, Europe, anywhere and everywhere. I'm gonna, I'm gonna..." I cover my mouth with my hand. "I'm gonna throw up."

"Oh, shit, okay, here you go," Georges says, moving a trash can. I lean over it and vomit up pure stomach acid. Georges holds my hair back softly as I throw up. It tastes awful, and soon enough it's just dry heaving.

"Fuck," I mutter, lying back on the bed. "That hurt."

"Have you eaten today?" Georges asks gently.

I shake my head. "I can't, I can't. It's gonna make me throw up."

"Okay," he whispers softly.

"Mmf, I'm sorry," I mutter, looking over at him.

"Why?" He asks.

I gently place my hand on his cheek. "You're really good, Georges. Really fucking good. You're just, you're a fucking person who does good things. You don't deserve to have to deal with me. This isn't, this isn't your fucking job or some shit. I'm just, I'm sorry you have to deal with all this. I'm glad you're still my friend though because I really like you."

Georges is about to say something too, but then my pop walks in. He's out of his uniform, changed into some new casual clothes. I groan from the light flowing into the room, covering my eyes. I can feel Georges stand up and walk to my pop. They greet each other, then Georges leaves, closing the door behind him.

"Hey, kid," my pop whispers.

"Blah," I mutter, looking at him.

"I know, come on, I'll help you to the car," my pop says. "I already signed you out. Georges is getting your stuff from your locker, so we have a few seconds to kill. Were you feeling sick this morning? Oh, I knew I should've made you stay home. How'd you hurt your ankle? You obviously weren't limping this morning."

I shrug. "I just, I fucked it up walking into the courtyard. Tripped on those steps and twisted it. Theo wrapped it and that got me through the first half of the day, but it started to really hurt when English ended."

"Alright," my pop sighs. "I gotta go back to work after I drop you off, but I'll set you up with some food and movies and your laptop and chargers and all that stuff on the couch. Does that sound okay? You can use the crutch your dad used after his knee surgery to get to the bathroom, alright?"

I nod and sit up, taking the ice pack off my ankle and slipping my shoe on. It's hard to walk, but my pop helps me up and lets me lean against him. He holds me up, taking my bag from Georges who was waiting in the waiting room for us. I get my jacket on and walk outside to my pop's car. We get in and I lean back, still tired.

"Alright kid, there we go," my pop mumbles, gently helping me up the stoop to the living room. I lay down on the couch and instantly my pop begins gathering blankets, and ice pack, the crutch, my laptop and chargers, snacks, books, my journal, and sketchbook. Basically, every form of entertainment that I enjoy doing.

"Thank you," I mumble, looking up at him with tired eyes.

"Hey, kid, it's okay," my pop mumbles, gently keeling down and offering me a hug. "I'm here for you, okay? ANything you need to tell me, I'll be right here. I gotta go back to work now, but if you need anything, just call me or your dad. We'll be home soon, alright? I love you, Pip."

"I love you too," my pop smiles.

He gets up and walks out of the house, leaving me to my own devices. I'm not a little kid, and I know how to be home alone, so I grab my phone and begin scrolling through Tumblr, trying to get my mind off of everything that has happened in the past twelve or so hours. I almost am feeling a bit happier, watching a guy in a full suit of armor do the cupid shuffle, but then I see Eaker's name flash across my screen. A notification from Snapchat is enough to have me throw my phone to the other side of the couch, my eyes wide and panic spreading through my chest. I run my hand through my hair, then quickly pull it away, remembering how Eaker touched it, pulled it, used it against me. I've always loved my hair, but now Eaker ruined it.

I get up and limp to the bathroom. I lean over the bathroom sink, splashing cold water over my face, tears coming to my eyes. I get a towel and dry the water off, then rub off the eyeliner under my eyes to reveal the deep purple bags. I stare in the mirror, then stick my tongue out, looking over the black shiny stud that's in it. Then I take it out. Then I take out the lip piercing, the septum piercing, the eyebrow piercing, setting the bits of black and silver metal on the counter. I can't really do much about my gauges except just leave them alone, so I don't take the white jewelry out of my ears. It's been so long since I've looked in the mirror and seen myself without any piercings. It's not, I still, I'm still the boy Eaker pushed against a car and covered the mouth of though.

Sighing, I shakily pick up a pair of scissors. I look at myself in the mirror, images of not only Eaker but now Jacky, flashing through my head. The way they hurt me. The bruises left on my body from them. I just, I never considered myself property of someone else until they touched me. I feel like they took a part of me that I still had when they did that. A part of me is gone, so what's one more part? What will it take to strip me down to nothing?

I cut off the first lock of hair, leaving about two inches, though I know I'll shave it down a bit more once I've finished hacking it off. I continue cutting, raven colored locks of my curly Puerto Rican hair falling into the sink and onto the floor. When I realize I can't get much more with scissors, I avoid the mirror and instead pull out an electric shaver my pop uses to touch up his hair. I put a filter thing on the razor, that way it'll shave my head down to one inch. I then plug it in and begin shaving, listening to the buzz as it goes around my hair. Short bits of hair fall into the sink as I keep my head down. I go around, making sure I don't miss anywhere. I go around my ears like my pop does, make sure to get the front. Finally, I finish. I turn off the razor and stare down at the sink. Holy shit, all that hair, it's mine. The hair I spent a while growing out, it's all gone, just like that.

I slowly look up in the mirror, almost jumping when I see my reflection. It doesn't look like me. Short hair, paled skin, heavy bags. The short hair really emphasizes how skinny I look. The fact that I don't have any piercings in almost makes me uncomfortable. I look naked. I look stripped of all my shields. They wanted to tear down my walls? My protection? Everything that made me the person I am? Well, they did it. They got me, only me, and nothing else.


	33. Sometimes noticeable growth can be cause for forgiveness

/Alex/

"Hey," I say to John as Phillip walks out the door. "Could you pick him up from school? Like, as soon as it ends? He really doesn't look good and I don't want him walking home."

John nods, sitting down next to me and taking a sip of my coffee. "Yeah, of course. You got a court case today or something?"

I nod. "Yeah. Well, I'm not being a lawyer, in this case, I'm actually testifying. So, that'll be nice. Hopefully shit will work out."

"For Nathan, right?" My husband asks, looking down at the mug of coffee he stole from me. "Like, that's who you're testifying for?"

I nod quietly. Truthfully, I don't know how John will react. In the past, he hasn't exactly enjoyed that I'm working with the man I slept with for a whole summer, but I don't think he knows that I haven't even seen Nathan yet. I've done practically everything to avoid seeing him. I've missed important lunches, requesting James to take notes so I can skim over them. I've hidden in my office for three hours while he was here, trying not to catch his attention. I've done everything to avoid seeing him, but today I have no other choice. I'm going to have to face him, quite possibly confront him. I'm praying that I can just leave before he catches up to me. Since I'm not a real lawyer, in this case, I don't have to stay after court is adjourned.

"Well," starts John. "I hope everything works out. Did you pack a lunch?"

"I have a granola bar somewhere in the back of my car," I vouch.

"Mm-hm," John laughs. He gets up and hands me a small white box filled with Chinese leftovers. "Here, it's white rice and vegetables with sauce. You think you can stomach it, mister omnivore?"

I smile and lean up, pulling him down by his collar and planting a kiss on his lips. "I love you so much, Johnathan Laurens Hamilton. You are the light of my life, the wind beneath my wings, the heart that beats so kindly in my chest. I see rain clouds on your cheeks, honey in your eyes, strawberry flavored poison on your lips." I run my hand across his cheek. "Kiss me again, for that poison is the only way I wish to go."

John doesn't seem to mind gently pushing a few strands of hair I missed when I gelled it this morning out of my face, then gently bringing his lips down on mine. I let a small sound escape the back of my throat, running my fingers over the soft fabric of his uniform. He tugs on my tie, pulling my face closer to his. His other hand makes its way to my thigh, gently rubbing it, awfully high up for someone who wants to get to work on time.

"Mm, baby, I'm about to get hard, and we gotta head to work," I mumble, pulling away. "Any other day, I would've loved to spend the morning between your thighs, but I do have a big court case to manage and help out with, so c'est la vie, my dearest."

John groans as I get up from my chair and grab my briefcase.

"I know," I sigh, coming back and offering another kiss. "Hey, it's Friday at least, so tonight we can stay up as late as we want doing whatever we want, alright?"

John presses his forehead to mine. "Go get em, tiger."

I plant one more quick kiss on John's lips, then quickly jog out of the house so I beat traffic. I get into my car, which is honestly real useless to have in New York and begin driving. I lean back, watching myself past buildings and other cars. As much as I hate the idea of big muscle cars like this huge professional black SUV, I like the fact that when I'm driving through New York, people usually let me pass them since it looks like I'm someone important. I mean, I guess I kinda am. I do work at the top law firm in Manhattan. Truthfully, I don't think Washington expected this business to take off so fast, but soon enough we were representing big-name politicians, companies, and everything else. I never thought I would get to shake the hand of the man in charge of Prada in New York, but I did.

I don't go to the firm, no, I head to the courthouse, which is where I need to be. I pull into a reserved parking spot, meant for lawyers and what not. I see Lafayette's car next to me, the little French flag sticking up on his dashboard. I smile lightly and get out of the car, leaving my jacket, grabbing my briefcase and stepping into the building. I spot Lafayette and Burr instantly, making my way over to them. Burr smiles at me and hands me a coffee. Of course, it's black, warm, and filling my body with the required energy I need for the day. I don't know how I'm going to manage to stay awake when I'm not doing anything, but I'll be okay.

"Alright, Hammy," Burr starts. "We got six hours of court, you will give your testimony around the third hour, and hopefully, we hear the prosecution today! Yay!"

Lafayette groans. "I'm so sick of this case. Seriously, I wish we could just get a good murder. That would be more fun."

Somewhere in the room, someone starts sobbing. Lafayette's eyes widen and I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh.

"Laf, you can't just go around begging for murder. Especially in a courthouse," Burr whispers quietly. "People have died."

"We should probably leave this area," I suggest, still trying to hold back a laugh.

"You both are fucking sadistic," Burr complains, leading us out of the main area and to the door that leads into the courtroom. "Alex, have you, have you seen Nathan since the affair? Like, have you made any contact with him?"

I shake my head. "He emailed me once after the pamphlet, but I deleted it. So yeah, really there's just been radio silence."

"Alright, well, uh, don't, just, don't freeze up when you see him," Aaron sighs. "We need you to just, like, you know, do your thing. Also, I printed out your testimony."

He hands it to me and I begin reading it over, picking out every artfully crafted lie that Aaron wrote down. I look back up to him. "This is, I just, none of this is true."

Aaron pulls me to the side a bit, lowering his voice. "If you tell the full truth, you could go to prison for two years. Two years. Let that sink in, Hamilton. Nathan knows what you're going to say, I know what you're going to say, James knows, Lafayette knows, and for the sake of your husband and son, I suggest you know it too. Make room in that big brain of yours and get this down, okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

"Hey, guys, sorry I'm late!" James calls, rushing over. "Had a doctors appointment. I got pneumonia again, so I just needed some medication and whatnot."

"I'm glad we can be casually about you getting fucking pneumonia, James," Lafayette sighs, looking to the smaller man. "Shouldn't you be at home? Resting? Usually, Thomas would just tie you down to the bed when you're sick but he's... wait for a second, does he know that you're sick again?"

"I'm fine," James waves off. "I just may have to excuse myself to have a coughing fit every now and then. Nothing abnormal."

"Well just, fucking, I dunno, heal," I mutter, not looking up from my testimony. "We can't lose you right now. You're very important."

"Y'all worry too much," James teases. "Okay, so, Nathan said he'd be here in a minute and asked us to wait for him outside."

I rub the back of my neck. "Uh, I'm, I'm gonna go in, sit down, start working on memorizing all these words so it doesn't look like I'm reading from a script. So, yeah."

"You're gonna have to make eye contact with him eventually," Burr points out as I step into the courtroom.

"I'm sure sparks will fly," I mutter sarcastically. I go in and take a seat in the first row, behind the table where Lafayette, James, Aaron, and Nathan will sit. I keep my head down as people begin to come in. I keep my head down as I see the three lawyers and one victim sit at the table in front of me. I read over the words, hardly paying attention to the people next to me or the world around me.

I love being a lawyer. I really do. I love the analyzing of every person's tone, words, claims. I love proving someone wrong. I love throwing down my file, pointing my finger at the person on the stand, and blatantly proving them wrong. I love that. What I don't love is this. Sitting here, waiting and waiting. No wonder people don't want to be on jury duty. I've never been on jury duty since lawyers don't have to, but if this is what it's like, then oh boy, I don't think I was missing out that much.

At one point, the judge begins talking to someone, so Burr quietly turns around and taps me on the shoulder. "Hey, Ham, how's the memorizing going."

"I would like to say that the confession of my involvement with the Hale's comes without a blush, but seeing that I am under oath, I must confess that the whole affair was kept under the radar for as long as I could," I deadpan, not missing a beat.

"Good boy," Aaron mumbles.

"I'm not a dog," I snark, looking up for a split second and sticking my tongue at Aaron.

"Woof woof, Hamilton," Aaron chuckles.

I roll my eyes and continue reading over the writing. Another hour goes by, my bladder filling itself significantly from the forty ounces of coffee I've had today. I'm squirming in my seat a little bit, crossing my legs and trying to ignore the pressure between my hips. I try to just focus on the papers in front of me, but when the judge announces a short recess, I find myself bolting out of the courtroom and into the bathroom. I step in front of a urinal and unzip my pants, happily relaxing and tilting my head back, thankful that the recess came when it did. When I finish up, I wash my hands and open the door, only to come face to face with Nathan Hale.

My heart stops for a second. He looks a little thinner, but not starved. Age has got to him a bit. It's hard to remember that both of us are about to be in our fifties, we're just a few years away. He's forty-seven this year, I'm forty-eight. His hair has a few grey spots in it, but his eyes are still the same. Last time we were this close, we fucked.

Nathan is about to say something, I can tell, so I brush past him and go straight back to the courtroom. I sit down and instantly grab my papers, looking over them with the intensity of someone who hasn't been looking at them for the past three hours. Recess lasts ten minutes, leaving me alone mostly in the courtroom, so, I pull out my phone and call John.

"Hey, love, is everything okay?" He asks when he picks up.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply. "I just really needed to hear your voice. I missed you, Hamilton."

John laughs. "I miss you too, Hamilton. Hey, uh, are we cooking tonight, or should I order out? I could cook if we needed, but I know you get really hungry after court dates."

"Do we have leftovers?" I ask.

"Uh, I think we do," John mumbles. "I could also throw together a stirfry, as long as your bring home some chicken, assuming you want meat. I have no problem not frying up the life of an innocent animal tonight though."

"Please, you're just jealous because you can't eat meat anymore," I joke.

"Am not!" John defends. "Anyway, how's the case going? You winning?"

"You forget I'm just testifying, but yeah, from the sounds of it, we are winning," I mumble. I look around for a second, then sigh. "John, I really, I just, I wanted to call you and tell you I love you, tell you that you're the only one for me. I just, I'm sorry for everything I did. I'm so sorry. I don't deserve any bit of forgiveness you offer me, and I certainly don't deserve you. I just, I love you, so much. You're the best of men and best of husbands."

John is quiet for a moment, then he lets out a small chuckle. "You are the only man for me, Alexander. I love you too."

We're quiet for a moment, then I speak again. "God, tomorrow, let's just like, lie in bed all morning. Alright? Can we do that?"

"Yes, hun, we can," John replies, laughing sweetly.

"Hamilton, court is about to go back in session," says James' voice as he walks past me, Nathan, Lafayette, and Aaron his tail.

"Shit, okay," I mumble. "Hey, love, I gotta go. I'll see you tonight. Stir fry sounds great, and I won't pick up any chicken to protect your precious vegan feelings."

"Aw, you do care," John mocks. "Alright, well, I love you."

"Love you too." I make a kiss noise just to be cheesy. "Bye-bye."

"Goodbye, you dork," John replies before hanging up.

"John?" Lafayette questions, looking at me from the chair he sits in front of me.

I nod, smiling. "Yeah, uh, we just talked about dinner and stuff. You know, the usual, since food is always a huge debate in our house."

"Please," James teases. "You may be a lawyer but I don't think you ever be able to eat meat around them. That, and you can't cook, so you don't get to choose what your house eats for dinner. You're basically vegan at this point."

I roll my eyes. "If I leave for work early enough, I can get a burger from McDonald's."

"At six in the morning?" Burr asks.

I nod. "You know it, A-A-Ron."

"Order, order!" The judge yells, bringing his gavel down onto the wooden palate. "Court is back in session."

I lean back and continue reading over the words on the paper. It takes another ten minutes of me memorizing and memorizing the words Aaron typed out for me, for my trance to be broken by the judge calling me to the stand. I get up nervously, fussing with my sleeve and adjusting my tie as I go up and get sworn under oath, then sit down in the hard wooden chair. I've never sat in one of these things, but thankfully, I won't be being questioned by a cruel harsh lawyer with no knowledge of me. Instead, I'll be answering the questions James Madison throws at me.

"Mr. Hamilton," James starts, his handkerchief in his hand. "Could you please recall the events of your time spent with my client?"

I clear my throat, making sure to keep my eyes on only James. "I first met Nathan nine years ago, over the summer. We became intimate almost immediately, despite his marriage, and despite mine. It took only but a few weeks of this endeavor to receive a letter from Pierre Hale. This is when I first learned about Nathan's husband. Nathan would often show up to my house, bruised and beaten, though he never told me why."

"Thank you," James continues. "Is there more you wish to add onto that?"

I glance down at the papers. "Nathan was very close to me for a fair amount of time, three months in fact, and while I would like to say that the confession of my involvement with the Hale's comes without blush, but seeing that I am under oath, I must confess that the whole affair was kept under wraps for as long as I could possibly do it without tarnishing my reputation."

James nods, pacing as he talks. "Did you keep in touch with Mr. Nathan Hale when you had cut ties on the affair that summer?"

"After those three months of relations, Nathan and I lost contact, and we haven't spoken since," I explain. That part wasn't a lie.

"Mr. Hamilton, were you aware of the abuse?" James continues.

"I had my suspicions, but was handicapped in most ways I could help. While I wished I could have done more, I had no stone hard evidence that Pierre was doing anything to Nathan, and Nathan wouldn't tell me much more besides the occasional fight they had. I had no way of doing anything, as long as Nathan didn't tell me anything." I look down for a second, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. I could feel Nathan burning holes into my head.

"Mr. Hamilton, if asked, would you say that Pierre was abusive, both physically and emotionally?" James continued.

I nod. "Yes. Without hesitation."

"And now, Mr. Hamilton-" James cutes himself off holding up one hand and coughing violently into his handkerchief. "Excuse me. Mr. Hamilton, as a lawyer, would you support a decision to put Pierre Hale into prison for an expansive amount of time?"

I nod. "Yes, I do believe so."

"Mr. Hamilton, you may be seated," the judge states. I get up, taking my papers with me, and sit down. My heart is beating so incredibly fast. I just lied, under oath, in front of some of the best lawyers in New York. No, some of the best lawyers in New York helped me lie under oath. I can't believe I just did that. As a lawyer, I took an oath to never lie in court, and so did they, and we all just broke it. We could be arrested, lose our jobs, or worse.

I spend those next couple of hours thinking about just that. I mess with the fabric of my shirt, ignoring the occasional buzzing from my phone. Lafayette, Aaron, and James seem unphased by what just happened, so I won't make a big deal out of it. If they can ignore it, then I can too. I've done bad things before, and this is by far not the worst.

"I've come to a verdict," the judge announces after five minutes of a nail-biting silence.

I peer up at him, sweat dripping down my back. No matter how wrong my past actions were, I need to know that Nathan is getting out of this relationship. I need to know that Pierre is getting locked up for what he did. I need to know that this is going to end better for Nathan that I could have provided. I need to know that Burr's laudable actions succeeded.

"Pierre Hale, I find you guilty under law 120.12, sentencing you to seven years in prison with ten years of probation," the judge states.

I see Nathan stand up and hug Burr, but I don't stick out. I'm up and making my way out of the courtroom, leaning against the wall in the hallways and taking deep breaths. Nathan is safe, and I can finally put this behind me. It's over. Nathan is okay, John and I are healing, and everything is okay.

"Hamilton!" I hear Nathan's voice say.

I look up in shock to see Nathan standing in the doorway across from me, his blue suit looking crisp. I almost move, but then realize that would be a bad idea. I see Lafayette and Burr standing behind Nathan, looking confused and a bit concerned.

Nathan storms up to me, brings his hand back, and slaps me incredibly hard across the face. I expected that granted, but I didn't expect Nathan grabbing my collar and pushing me against the wall, pressing his lips to me. Shocked, I try to move farther back, then realize I have a wall behind me, so I push Nathan off of me.

"I have a husband," I state. I may have had trouble saying no to him the first time, but I sure as hell will be able to say no this time. I am married to Johnathan Laurens Hamilton, and I am so very in love with Johnathan Laurens Hamilton.

"That didn't stop you last time," Nathan snaps.

I swallow hard. "I, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything. I know what I did was unforgivable."

"I'm sure we could come up with a way to fix things," Nathan suggests, playing with my tie and running his hand along my chest.

"No, Nathan, stop it," I say, my voice weak and a lump building in my throat. "Please, just, things just got better for my marriage, and I'm sorry about everything that's going on, but I'm glad you're safe now, I really am. I just, Nathan, I am married, quite happily right now, really. I just, I can't, we can't, I'm sorry."

Nathan looks like he's going to say something else, but Burr puts his hand on his shoulder. Nathan stalks away and for a moment I stand there, my heart in my stomach, then I bolt to the bathroom. I lock myself in a stall and breakdown. Tears flow from my eyes and sobs break through my chest. I don't know why the things he said really got to me like this, but I do know that I'm not going to be able to calm down any time soon.

"Alexander," I hear Lafayette's voice say, knocking on the stall door. "Alexander, come out, please. It's just me."

I open the door, wiping my eyes. "What? You hear to rub my nose in it?"

Lafayette sighs, opening his arms. "Come here."

I'm quick to accept the hug from him, resting my forehead against his chest and continuing my good cry session. He gently holds me, running his hands over my hair and rocking me side to side. I grip his crisp tailored white dress shirt, shaking in his arms as he gently holds me.

"Shh, mon petite," Laf whispers, taking my face in his hands. "It's okay, it's okay. You're going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. Shh, please do not cry, because I may cry, and I worked very hard on my eyeliner this morning."

I laugh, more tears coming out of my eyes. "Dammit Laf, you're making me laugh and I'm having a mental breakdown in the bathroom of a courthouse."

"I'm sorry for what Nathan did," Lafayette mumbles. "Can I admit something?"

I nod.

"I'm surprised you didn't kiss back," he tells me, gently wiping a few tears off my cheek and pushing some hair out of my hair. I need to get it cut again.

I chuckle. "I just, you know, John and I had couples therapy last night. We talked about a lot of stuff, which is what we've been doing at couples therapy. Uh, when we got home, we talked even more, and I just, I dunno, we talked until we fell asleep. We were both like, we were both half awake, lying with each other, and talking as we dozed off. Things have just been better recently, and I don't, I don't want to throw that away again. I love John. I love him so much."

Lafayette sighs gently, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Are you okay, Alex?"

"Like, overall? Or right now?" I ask.

"Overall," Lafayette clarifies.

I shrug. "Things are better. I've felt worse. I'm like, ninety-nine percent sure Phillip is sick, but I'm glad he has the weekend to rest up."

"You know, the case is over, and James and Aaron are finishing up the final papers," Lafayette starts, looking around. "Cafe Belle is only a few blocks away. You wanna go? For old times sake, Hamilton?"

Whenever Laf or I would win a case, you could find both of us at Cafe Belle, sipping our drinks, talking about life, gossiping, relaxing. We stopped doing that after the pamphlet came out, but truthfully, nothing sounds nicer than to grab some coffee and a bite to eat with Lafayette right now. So, I nod and we go out, grabbing our jackets from our cars. Mine is just a regular old wool jacket, zipping up, with a collar that I can turn up to fight against the wind. Lafayette, on the other hand, has a navy blue peacoat that sweeps around him like a cape. I can't say Lafayette stayed the same amount of feminine that he was in college. He never stopped rocking winged eyeliner and highlighter, but now has a more professional and fancy taste in clothing. He'll wear only the finest dress wear, making me look like a polyester fire starter.

"Ah, the scent of coffee and pot that the employees smoke in the back," Lafayette sighs as we enter the cafe. "Do we have anything else we need to do today? Or can we order some special food?"

"I think I'm good, I just want coffee," I laugh.

This cafe is secretly a big pot dealer. The owner is a sweet old woman who has been doing this since the eighties. She's on her death bed, but her son is set to take over the business. Since they hook up Lafayette and I a lot, we promised we'd be their lawyers for free if they ever got into a jam. I don't think anyone would ever try to take this place down though, it's real nice, and does make some good coffee.

"Hey, Laf, Alex," The waiter at the front says. "The usual?"

I shrug. "Nah, I just want coffee. I got a family to get home too real soon."

"I'll take his," Lafayette smiles.

"Still such a stoner," I chuckle. "You know, college is long over."

"I'm old, Alex, let me live my life," Lafayette complains.

I roll my eyes and scan my credit card, then go find my place at a table. Lafayette sits down with a sigh, slipping off his jacket and leaning back. I sit, hunched up and tense while Lafayette sits open, knees apart, shoulders back, ready for anyone to even try and hit him. Gotta admit the dude has confidence that no one would really expect from someone like him. He's talked about it before, his willingness to fight. He's always so ready to use fists, and that's surprising since he's put out a more delicate personality. He says he got it from when he was a sex worker, and then it just got stronger when Georges was placed into his care.

"So, how's life?" I say, staring out the window.

Lafayette shrugs. "I, uh, I kinda wanted to ask you about something."

"Yeah? What is it?" I say as my coffee and his mocha is set down, as well as a plate with two brownies. He doesn't touch them right away, instead sips his drink.

"You and John, you fought, yeah?" Lafayette starts.

I roll my eyes. "No, we sat down and had tea. Yes, we fought, Laf, why?"

Lafayette shifts, looking very uncomfortable as he plays with his tie. He takes another sip of his drink, not even eying the brownies when he would usually have two down by this point. "Herc and I have been fighting kinda."

I almost spit out my coffee. "You're kidding."

Lafayette shoots me a look. "No, I'm not. It's just, it's not even about big things. It's just, like, I'll get home late and be tired and Herc will be annoyed that I'm too tired to talk to him. Or, uh, I'll forget to do the dishes and Herc will get pissy. I don't, I don't really know what's going on, but he hasn't told me anything."

I shrug. "This is just coming from the guy who has only recently fixed his marriage, but it sounds like something is going on. Like, he's not mad about you coming home late or forgetting to do the dishes. He's mad about something that he's not saying. My best advice? Just, sit down with him, talk to him, ask him what's going on. Be kind, don't get defensive. Communication is so very important, so just talk about it."

Lafayette smiles. "Thanks, man. Uh, what about you and John? How you two doing?"

I smile. "Better, Lafayette. We're, we're talking about stuff, we're working through stuff. I don't, I don't want to brush anything under the rug. We're putting it all out on the table."

"Speaking of being on the table..." Lafayette trails off, wiggling his eyebrows. There was one time he and Herc walking in on us christening the kitchen, John lying on the table with me riding him, so now that's something they enjoy bringing up.

I roll my eyes. "We've been fucking since like, December, but we're finally like, starting to just, god, like, I dunno, we just..."

"Making love," Lafayette mumbles. "Not fucking anymore, making love."

I nod. "It's nice. Things are just, things are filled with more emotion, better emotion. John is so gentle, sweet. I mean, I'm sorry to go into detail about my sex life but-"

"No, don't be sorry, I want every fucking detail," Lafayette begs.

I laugh. "Well, a couple nights ago, we were getting into it, right? Now, we're lying there, totally naked, making out, and he just, I dunno, he started kissing down my chest, and I thought that meant a blow job, which is great, but he just kept kissing. He kissed up and down my legs, over the tattoos, up and down my legs, my arms, my stomach, my neck, my lips. It was just, I felt so loved. Fuck, Lafayette, I also missed like, our good planned sex. I missed how sweet he was when he comes out of the shower, hair still wet. How soft and gentle he is as he lays me down. And fuck, the way he just, like, God, the way he just goes in raw, kissing up my neck."

"Man, now I'm horny," Laf complains.

"Need another four-way?" I ask, laughing at him.

He rolls his eyes. "None of us knew what the fuck we were doing, but it was hot as shit, I'm not gonna lie."

I nod. "I had never seen John get topped before, but I'm glad your husband was the one to do it. Also, you have a great ass."

"Oh, yeah, I like, rode your face," Lafayette chuckles.

I groan, sitting back. "Now I'm horny."

Lafayette makes eye contact with me for a second, wiggling his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes. "You wish."

Lafayette places his hand over his chest, pouting at me. "Hammie, you're killing me." He cuts a brownie in half and hands the half over to me. "You look tense, eat it."

I roll my eyes. "Firstly, I am always tense. Secondly, yeah, thanks, I probably should have this. I just, I need to be able to drive after this, alright? So don't tempt me with anymore."

"Ooh, yeah, driving. I'll probably just uber it, pick up the car tomorrow," Lafayette mumbles, gently taking a bite of the other half of the brownie. "So, is there anything else new in the life of Alexander Hamilton?"

I shake my head. "Nah, not really. Just been working, fixing stuff, finding time to sleep in between. How about you? It's been awhile since we caught up. Anything new going on with you? Any news?"

"Well," Lafayette starts. "Georges is looking at colleges, and it seems he is going to go to France to study. He wants to be a digital designer, which is actually a big money maker, so I hope my son will be able to live comfortably. What about Phillip? He thought about college?"

"Amsterdam university, then a freelance photographer for big magazines," I say, amused. "He may not live comfortably, but he'll live happily. God, I'm beginning to think we should've picked a surrogate mom who was fucking normal."

Lafayette chuckles. "God, pregnant Peggy was something else. You and John were exhausted. I'm glad you guys didn't want another kid because I was not ready to spend another Christmas listening to Peggy go 'if I eat enough pickles, the heart burn will give this kid the message.' I really think she knew nothing about being pregnant."

I roll my eyes. "Seriously. John would've made a better pregnant woman that her."

A loud laugh escapes Lafayette's chest. "I'm sorry, but you're right. John with his fucking pregnancy books, running around and pestering Peggy about eating right and taking vitamins. You went out to McDonald's with the girl to soothe her midnight cravings while John made all these healthy meals for her to eat. She ate so much mustard during that pregnancy..."

I start laughing. "We once took her out to this fancy restaurant when she was like seven months pregnant, and she ordered like, a pasta dish or something, and you should've seen the waiters face when she pulled out like four mustard packets and dumped them on her food." I snort from laughing. "He looked like he was going to have a brain aneurysm."

"Aw, Pegs," Lafayette smiles. "Did you hear about the falling out her and Angie had?"

I shake my head. "I saw they were like, tense at Christmas, but like, I didn't really hear anything about it. What happened?"

"Alright, so around Christmas Angie got in touch with Peggy to invite her down to New York for Christmas, and Peggy said she might not be able to make it because of her job and Angie went off on her, saying she could just take the time off, that she had the money, and then Peggy called Angie a stingy capitalist bitch with a stick up her ass, and then Angie told Peggy that she was just doing this whole bullshit rebellion because she couldn't find a man who could deal with her bullshit beliefs, and then Peggy told Angie that she got more dick than Angie ever could, and then they hung up."

I cover my mouth. "Well damn, glad that's the mother of my child."

"Oh man, and Eliza totally took Peggy's side. You weren't there for Christmas dinner when she snapped and Angie. I had never seen Eliza so pissed off," Lafayette continues. "Like, everyone is a fucking family here except for the actual sisters. They just, they like, they're falling apart, dude."

I roll my eyes. "Please, they've been on and off for years. Twenty bucks says next Christmas they're just fine."

Lafayette wiggles his eyebrows. "You're on."

I laugh, then pause for a second, thinking about what I'm gonna say. "Hey, Laf?"

"Yeah?" Lafayette replies lazily, taking another bite of the full brownie since he finished off the half during his retelling of the Peggy Angie drama.

"I, I missed you, man," I mumble. "Like, I dunno, I just missed hanging out with you."

Lafayette sighs. "I was not kind to you."

I shake my head, laughing a bit. "Don't worry about it. It's not like you were without reason. I did a pretty fucked up thing, and then more fucked up things. I just, I was a bit of a mess during that time, and I fucked up really bad."

"We blamed you for things that weren't always your fault, though," Lafayette mumbles. He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "Look, I'm still, I'm still hurt by what you did, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't still mad, but, I just, you're my family, Alex. I love you like you're my blood.

I sigh and squeeze his hand. "Can things just like, can they go uphill from here? Can we just all improve and be happy again?"

Lafayette nods, smiling. "We can. I missed you too, Alex."

I groan and sit back. "I can't wait for my only problems to be Phillip going to college and the fact that I fall asleep ten minutes into sex."

"Oh, take two Benadryl, drink some five-hour energy, and let John be the only thing that turns you on. Like, don't touch yourself before he comes out or whatever. The Benadryl will numb you out for a little bit. Well, not numb you out, but it'll dull things down, make em last longer. The five-hour energy will keep you awake, and letting John turn you on will make it last longer," Lafayette explains.

"Is this a problem you have?" I ask slowly.

Lafayette rolls his eyes. "Yes, it is. I'm getting old. Okay, real personal question, you ever had trouble like, getting it up?"

I shrug. "Sometimes. Just when I'm tired though. You?"

Lafayette shrugs. "Yeah, just like you, when I'm tired. I just wanted to make sure that it wasn't just me or anything."

I laugh. "Well, both of us should probably get our prostate checked. We're rolling up on fifty. Herc got his checked, right?"

Lafayette groans. "He made such a big deal out of it. He was like 'this is gay' and I had to kindly remind him that he married a man. No, he was fine, but now he has to get it checked once a year since I don't want my man getting cancer. Anyway, yeah, we should. We could do it together, make a day out of it. Ooh, we could get really stoned, get our prostates checked, and then convince our husbands to have another four-way."

I groan. "Always so horny. Can you believe we're almost at the age of catheters and like, wrinkles?"

"Baby, black don't crack," Lafayette points out. "Maybe you'll get wrinkles, but she's staying young. I got asked for my ID at the bar the other day, even though I had already made it through the door."

"You liar," I scoff.

"It's true! Granted, I had put on a bit of makeup, dressed up a bit, but still," Lafayette brags, smiling.

"Well, no one has asked my ID in a while. I walk in and they have a whiskey and a martini already prepared for me. I am aging, Laf," I complain.

"You got like, two grey hairs and the cutest smile lines," Lafayette states. "Like, you're not aging badly. Neither you nor John are. That's one of the many amazing things about not being white, we look good no matter how old we are."

"I miss college," I mumble. "That was such a nice time. Remember that time you and I climbed to the top of the junior dorm building during classes and smoked so much pot? We were so high. Our professor totally knew."

"Everyone knew," Lafayette jokes. "And then you were so set on never having kids back then. Like, you didn't even want to think about children."

"Okay, listen, the night of graduation, I tried crack cocaine with you, now I'm too scared to even get a flu shot. My point is, people change," I say, smiling.

Lafayette and I continue talking for hours. We catch up on so much. We talk about love, our kids, our health, our emotions, how we're doing. Laf's pot brownies set in and wear off. We stay there from noon to four, ordering more and more coffee, talking, making up for the five months that there was radio silence between us. At one point Lafayette gets close to tears as he talks about the recent death of his aunt. We then cheer up when he begins talking about Adrienne coming to America for a little longer than a week. She misses Lafayette, so she wants to stay for a month of so, hanging out with everyone. Lafayette teases me for falling in love with her, bringing a sarcastic look from me. We're interrupted when my phone begins buzzing.

"It's the love of my life, gimme a sec," I say, holding up a finger. Lafayette nods and I pick up, putting the phone to my ear. "Hey, darling, what's cracking?"

"Uh, I think something is wrong with Phillip," John mumbles quietly.

"What? Why?" I ask, sitting up.

"I just..." He trails off. "You should come home."

"Yeah, okay, I'll be there soon. I'm just out with Laf, so I'm not missing work or anything. Uh, yeah, I'll be there soon," I mumble.

"Alright," John sighs.

I hang up and look to Laf. "I have to go."

"Is everything okay?" He asks as we both get up. He probably just going to walk back to his car with me.

I shrug. "John called, said something was wrong with Phillip but wouldn't tell me what, just told me I should come home."

"Shit, do you think everything is alright?" Lafayette questions as we leave the cafe and make out way down the street.

I bite my lip. "Nothing should be too bad. John told me to come home and not to the hospital, so at least Pip isn't dying. I dunno, he's been off since that thing happened a while back. Not really different, just off, and he didn't seem too good this morning. I really think he needs to go back into therapy, but every time I ask, he waves it off and says he's fine. I don't buy it for a second, but I can't drag the kid to a psych hospital."

"It's hard to give help when people don't want to accept it, but if it's something serious, you should sit down with him, talk to him. Check him, making sure he's not cutting or anything," Lafayette suggests.

I nod. "I really, I just, I have been a bit worried about him, though it seems like he's been doing better recently. I dunno." We arrive at the parking lot of the courthouse and make our way to our cars. "I'll see what's going on later. Thanks, Lafayette."

He nods. "Yeah. See you later."

"Bye," I mumble, getting into my SUV. I begin driving quickly through the streets of New York, getting home quickly and entering the kitchen, hanging up my jacket and approaching my husband, who sits at the counter sipping some coffee drink from Starbucks.

"Hey," John says.

"What do you mean something is wrong with Phillip?" I start out. "Is he okay?"

"Just, I just, I dunno, come on," John mumbles, taking my hand and leading me upstairs. "He hurt his ankle at school today, so I have him kicked back on the couch. Georges said he threw up at school, and he was passed out when I got home, but he's up now."

We enter the livingroom and I actually jump. I don't recognize him for a second. I don't recognize the fuzzy buzz cut on his head, the face which now has an absence of fifty dollars worth of metal, eyes without a mess of eyeliner under them. He looks, he looks normal, which is really weird of him to look like.

"Hey, Pip," I say slowly, coming around and sitting on the edge of the couch.

He looks up from his phone. "Hey, dad."

"Heard you got sick," I say empathetically. "You feeling a bit better?"

He shrugs. "I still can't eat anything. My stomach is killing me, and my ankle hurts like a mother fucker. I'm glad it's the weekend."

I nod. "I'll make you some ginger tea later, and I'll make you some food. Real light, what I feed your pop when he gets sick." I pause, looking him over, then I gently run my hand over his hair. "You did well. It's all pretty even. What made you want to do that?"

Phillip shrugs. "Needed a bit of a change."

"Did something happen?" John asks, gently kneeling next to me.

Phillip freezes up for a second, and it was so quick that anyone else wouldn't notice, but I'm his dad, and I noticed right away. Unfortunately, Phillip doesn't want to address that, because he just laughs. "No, nothing happened. I just, I felt like it was time to change a bit. Spice things up, I dunno."

"Are you sure? Because, I just, this is a bit out of nowhere, and we're just a bit concerned for you. You seem off today, and we want to make sure you're okay." John bites his lip, shooting me a quick side glance.

Phillip shrugs. "I'm fine. It's just been an off day."

I pause, then sigh. "Phillip, I want to check you."

TW: Mentions of self-harm

"Check me...?" Phillip trails off, and that's when I realize, we've never had to do this. I spent a while getting checked by John, on and off through our college and early adult years. Both John and I know the deal, what it's like, but I don't think Phillip has ever even like, explored self-harm. He's never had anything to hide from us. He's always talked to us about stuff, but I can tell he's lying this time. He's a terrible liar, and I hope he knows this.

"Alex, do you think that's necessary?" John asks quietly.

I look to John and nod. "If there's nothing, then that's good, but if there's something..."

"I'm sorry, am I the only one here who has no idea what we're talking about?" Phillip chimes. "What are we checking me for?"

"I just..." I pause, feeling my stomach sink as I think about all those times John checked me and saw something fresh. The way his face contorted into a look of heartbreak. The way he would hug me and hold me, letting me cry. I think about how much it hurt him, and I don't know if I can handle going through that kind of hurt with my son. "Phillip, it's something I need to do, hun."

"What is?" Phillip asks again. "Am I about to get sent to a hospital or something?"

I shake my head. "I want to make sure you're not cutting yourself."

Phillip's face contorts into a look of confusion. "What? Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, but something is obviously wrong, and you don't want to tell us, and we can respect if you need time to process things, but we need to make sure that you are taking this out of yourself." Tears come to my eyes and I look down really quick, blinking them away. I don't like thinking about my son doing this to himself.

"Alex, let me do it," John says. "Just, I've been doing this."

I nod and move, standing up and moving away.

"Okay, hun, I just wanna check your stomach, ribs, wrists, thighs, and hips, alright? It's not gonna be an hour long examination, just a quick check. Can you stand up?" John says, his voice soft and gently like it was with me on those dark nights.

Phillip nods slowly and stands up, pulling up his sweater to let John see his stomach and ribs. Nothing there. John checks his wrists, and again, there's nothing. He then checks Phillip's thighs and hips, and there's nothing. I can't help but let out a sigh of relief when John tells Phillip he's all good. Phillip sits back on the couch and looks down.

"Hey," John gently calls to me. "He's good. He's clean."

I nod, coming back over and sighing. "Okay, good. Good. That's, that's good."

"I don't see why you guys had to do that," Phillip mumbles annoyedly.

I sigh. "I just, you're so much like me, and I don't want you to be too much like me. It's not that we don't trust you, because believe me, kid, we do. We love you and want to respect your boundaries, but we had to check."

"Did you..." Phillip trials off.

I unbutton the sleeve of my white dress shirt and push it up to reveal the Where The Wild Things Are tattoo, then genty run my fingers over the bumps of scar tissue. "I've been there, Phillip. I've felt that pain. It's just, if you ever do harm yourself, or you feel like it, please don't be afraid to come to me or your pop. We won't judge you, and we won't be angry. We love you so much, Phillip, and if you ever need to talk to us, tell us something, please, please don't be afraid. You are the light of our lives, and we'd do absolutely anything for you."

"We love you so much, Phillip, and we will do anything to help," John says gently.

Phillip's bottom lip quivers and I instantly take him into a hug, then feel John wrap his arms around both of us. Phillip begins crying gently into my shirt as I run my fingers over his now short hair. The three of us stay like that for a while, just holding each other. Phillip cries, and I let him cry. Even if he's not ready to talk about stuff, I want him to know that John and I are here for him. Even if he just needs to cry, even if he just needs to get a hug, I'll drop everything and go the distance. He's my son, my only child, and I'll protect him against anything and everything.

"I'm sorry," Phillip mumbles as we gently let go of him. "It's just, it's been a bit of a rough day. I'm just, I'm trying to manage some shit."

"Hey," I say softly. "It's okay. Don't be sorry. We're right here. How about we spend the weekend watching movies, letting your ankle heal, relaxing, eating junk food, yeah?"

Phillip smiles. "That sounds nice."

"We got you," John mumbles, gently kissing the top of Phillip's head. "We got you."


	34. Georges, you must be out of your GOD DAMN MIND

/Phillip/

I wish I could say I felt better after that soulful moment with my parents, and a weekend spent doing something next to nothing, but truthfully, I was still shaky and feeling awful. Memories of not only Eaker but Jacky too, flash through my brain whenever I didn't occupy myself with something else. After one nightmare, I decided sleep wasn't exactly the best thing to manage, so I've been getting an average of three hours a night, running off of mostly coffee and Adderall. I wish I could say I've been eating enough, but it's hard to even get a little down, and I've dropped weight really fast again, going from one hundred and thirty to one hundred and twenty-five in five days. I really haven't been eating a lot.

I'm not really thinking about that as I sit on Peter's lap on this cool Wednesday afternoon, waiting for Theo and Georges to show up. I'm curled up in Peter's arms, willing myself to stay awake so I don't end up freaking out and having a nightmare while curled up in Peter's arms. If that happened, I would probably end up having to explain to him what happened, and that is something that not only have I not done but also I have not wanted to so. I don't know if it counts as cheating, and I really like him.

I jump when my phone buzzes, pulling it out of my pocket and checking it. I see a notification from Theo. I open up the text messages and check what she said to me. 'Georges and I are going out to eat. You need to talk to your man about really happened on Friday.' I roll my eyes and put my phone away, then look up to a curious Peter.

"Theo and Georges are going out, so it looks like we have some time alone," I say, smiling. "Gimme a kiss, daddy."

Peter laughs and pulls me into a kiss, gently placing his hand on my cheek. When we pull away, he gently runs his thumb over my lip. "It's weird not feeling your tongue piercing and your lip piercing when I kiss you."

I shrug and look down a bit. "Do I look bad like this? It was all kinda impulsive, and I mean, I can apply eyeliner and put my piercings back in if it bothers you, although my hair is gonna take some time to grown and-"

"Hey, whoa whoa," Peter says, cutting me off. "No, you don't look bad. You just look different, and I don't mind that. People go through periods of change, and that's okay. I still think you're cute as a button, and I would trade you for anyone in the world."

I groan, resting my head against his chest. "I'm sorry that like, the day after we started dating I had some fucking mental snap."

"Hey, no, don't be sorry," Peter mumbles, running his hands over my short spiky hair. "Now you look like the rocking twink Leonard Bernstein wouldn't want me to go down on. Luckily, I don't care what he thinks of me, and I'll go down on you anyway."

I laugh, gently taking his hand in mine. "You're good. You're really good."

"Hey, uh, did something happen after I dropped you off on Friday?" Peter asks me softly.

I shrug. "I told you, I just, I got messed with a bit. It's fine."

"Hey," Peter mumbles, taking my face in his hands. "It seems like something more happened. You've been off. I know you pretty well, I like to think. We've been friends for twelve years, so I know when you're acting differently. You seem, I dunno, you seem like something really snapped. Like it wasn't some compulsive Britney Spears move, it roots deeper. You were just, you've been so happy lately, but it feels like something changed and made you nervous, and if you just don't want to be in a relationship, then that's fine, but I feel like something else happened."

"It's not you," I state firmly. "I promise. I, I'm happy with you. You're like, I dunno, you're the dude who makes me feel good about myself for once, and I like that. I like you."

"I like you too, Phillip Hamilton," Peter chuckles.

I sigh and kiss the palm of his hand. "Yeah, something happened that night after you dropped me off. More than just some guy messing with me. I just, I, I'm not ready to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it just yet. Right now I'm really trying to just be able to manage it by myself. So, I will tell you, I promise, I just can't, I can't right now. Does that make sense?"

Peter nods. "Yeah, I get that. Just, when you're ready, I'll stay up all night with you, talk to you about whatever happened. I don't want you to be alone, so just know that I'm right here for you. I ain't going nowhere."

"For sure?" I mumble.

"For sure," he replies.

I groan and curl up in his arms again, resting my head on his chest. "Sorry, you gotta deal with all my shit. This isn't exactly what you signed up for."

"Yeah, I really should have read the manual to Phillip Hamilton before I purchased him," Peter remarks sarcastically. "Don't apologize for having emotions. You remember all those nights I stayed up with you before we got together? Before we even thought about getting together? You asked me not to talk about it the next day, and I didn't. You asked me to be there, and I was. Phillip, I'm by your side, no matter what shit you're going through."

"I want you to know that I'm here for you too," I state. "Like, just because I got shit going on, I don't want that to stop you from talking to me about something on your mind."

"You're real good, Pip," Peter mumbles, running his hand over my hair. "You know, now we match with hair. It can be our couple thing."

I smile. "It can."

Lunch goes by, and soon enough, I'm sitting back in English class, taking notes and yawning as Mr. King teaches. Georges sits next to me, fidgeting uncomfortably, so I write a little note, asking him if he's okay, and gently place it on his desk. In a few seconds, he's passing it back, asking me if he can talk to me after school. Nodding, I tell him to meet me at my locker, then go back to taking notes.

I go to my final class, then make my way to my locker, fumbling for the thin grey beanie I've taken to wearing since my hair no longer keeps my head warm. I put it on and then grab my bag from my locker, setting it on the ground and then putting on my warm jacket. I pick up my bag, then slip on my glasses, waiting to come face to face with Georges as I rummage around my locker for the homework I threw in there earlier today. Then I see him out of the corner of my eye. I wave as I toss some papers into the top of my locker, still looking for the dreaded calculus sheet that I need to do.

"Hey," he says, his voice wavering and shaving a bit.

"Hey, Georgie," I say, still looking for the most likely crumpled piece of paper.

"Look, if I don't say it fast, then I'm not going to be able to say it all, so..." Georges pauses and I look at him, waiting for him to say it. "I love you."

"I love you too, Georgie," I state plainly.

"No, Phillip, like, I'm in love with you," he goes on.

Have you ever felt your emotions malfunction and go into emergency shut down? Like you can feel yourself numb out due to the news you just received? Because holy shit literally everything I've ever felt just got thrown out the window, and my brain has turned to lead. I mean, I knew he had feelings for me, but love? No, that's bullshit. I can't, he didn't, he's not in love with me. That would be some bullshit cliche seventeen-year-old horse shit.

I slowly turn to him, completely forgetting about my dreaded algebra homework. "Oh."

"That's it?" Georges says, obviously expecting more.

I bite my lip, closing my locker. "Uh, neat?"

"Seriously?" He snaps, annoyed.

I begin walking towards the door, him on my tail. "I can't talk about this right now, Georges. It's not the right time."

"It's never the right time!" He exclaims.

"Yeah! That should be a bit of a hint!" I say, exiting the school and walking into the courtyard. "We can just like, never have this conversation."

"Hold on," Georges says, grabbing my arm. "No, I want to talk about this."

"Right now?" I say, looking around at the people who walk by us.

"If not now then when?" Georges huffs.

"Never!" I suggest, throwing my arms up and offering him a sarcastic smile.

"See, this is such bullshit," Georges snaps. "You don't want to talk about your real fucking feelings because you're too scared of what they mean."

I let out a fake laugh, staring wide eyes at him. "My real feelings? Georges, I am with Peter, quite happily might I add, so I'm really not afraid of what they mean, or of my feelings in general. I've been pretty blatant of expressing them."

"Oh yeah? Then what me so special that you couldn't go past kissing with me?" Georges snaps, crossing his arms.

"I didn't fuck you because you're a virgin!" I exclaim quite loudly, drawing some attention.

"You're just like your father," Georges growls.

"How the fuck am I just like my dad?" I ask, sighing angrily.

"You lead someone on and then you go run off with someone else, that's how," Georges states like he's unlocked the key to all my family secrets.

This time I'm laughing genuinely. "That's such horse shit, Georges. No, here's what my dad did. My dad stayed with a man for twenty-eight years, then cheated on him. What I did was fool around until I found someone I liked, so don't fucking accuse me of leading you on. I was very clear about not wanting to catch feelings."

I see Theo and Peter approaching slowly in my peripheral vision, looking at Georges as I with concerned faces. Theo has her phone out and is obviously filming, but I don't care. A few other kids are standing around trying not to make it obvious that they're listening in.

"Oh yeah, but the moment one of your fucks proves he's got a better dick than anyone else you just jump right on," Georges snaps.

"Wow, no, you see, this is why I never talk about my love life or sex life with you, because you always get so fucking judgey. You honestly couldn't care less if a guy treats me like shit, or treats me like a king, you would still not like him because he's not you," I point out. "Georges, I'm sick of trying to be enough for you all the time."

"You were always enough for me," Georges states.

"No, actually, I wasn't. I never have been. I've been enough for Theo because she never gave a shit if I was completely abstinent or sleeping with eight guys, she cared about me no matter what. You, you, you have this sculpted idea of what you want me to be and what you think you can change me into, but that's not what I want! I don't want to be molded into someone else! I like the person I am!" Tears come to my eyes and I take a deep breath.

"What you are is a fucking tease," Georges snaps.

"Wow, fuck you," I mutter. "You know, you really are a piece of shit. I am in a relationship, going through some crap, literally just trying to keep my head above water and you decide to drop a fucking bombshell on me. I cannot help if I don't feel the same way about you."

"You won't let yourself feel the same way," Georges argues.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "Fine, you want the full truth? You were totally in the final rounds for a dude I would commit to. Like, you actually could've been my ideal guy, but you've treated me like shit, recently. You really have. There's a reason I'm with Peter and not you and lemme tell you, it's not because of his dick."

"Phillip he doesn't love you like I do," Georges states.

I roll my eyes. "You don't fucking love me, you're just horny. You are just a horny virgin who is looking for the closest guy to ride your dick. News flash, it's not me."

"You're still a fucking tease," Georges snaps. "You know it, too. You've been leading me on for years, and this is what I get? You fucking-"

I cut him off. "I have not been leading you on! I made it pretty damn obvious that I wasn't in the mood to catch feelings. That's on you, Goerges. And if you knew you liked me, and you knew that making out with me was just making it worse, you could've just stopped doing it! I'm sorry I don't feel the same, but that's not my problem!"

"No, here's why I think you're lying. You got real close to hooking up with me, what was that about, Phillip?" Georges pushes.

"I was on like, so many different drugs! Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but you just need to get over that! You need to get over me! I am with Peter, very happily, and I plan to stay with him until he can't put up with me anymore!" I glance over to Peter, offering a small half smile, which is returned with just a look of concern.

"No, actually, you're just a stingy bitch," Georges states.

I laugh. "Georgie, hun, I hate to break this to you, but I'm kinda the opposite of stingy."

Georges smirks. "Oh yeah? What about you and that straight guy, Jacky? Hm?"

Red dots my vision. This smug motherfucker really wanna imply he knows more about my life than I do? Okay, lets fucking go, Georges. You want to fight? Let's fucking fight. You got me mad, so now I'm really ready to sink as low as you. I'm not sorry for anything I say, I just want to hurt you now.

I drop my bag, storm up to him, and punch him right in the jaw. "Fuck you, Georges!"

"Holy shit, Phillip," I hear Theo say.

I look over to her, ignoring the other people surrounding us and watching all this go down. "Stay out of this."

"What the hell, Phillip?" Georges yells, pushing me back with one hand while he holds his jaw with the other.

"You don't know fucking shit about what's going on in my life, so stay the fuck out of this. I don't give a fuck if you 'love' me, I don't give a fuck if you spend the rest of your life trying to get with me, it's never going to happen, so get over it. Get over me," I snap.

"So you just throw a fucking punch when something hits a nerve?" Georges snaps.

I walk closer to him, close enough to where our chests are almost touching. "I do. Why don't you throw a punch, Georgie? Come on, babe, hit me. I know you fucking want to. Come on, do it. Right here." I jut out my jaw. "A real good solid hit." There's a real quiet moment where I just stare at him, take in the anger in his eyes, then I scoff, turning to walk away. "That's what I fucking thought."

"Whore," he mumbles.

I whip around. "You wanna say that to my fucking face? Huh?" I push his chest a bit. "Say it to my fucking face, you coward! Say it! I want to fucking see your face when you say it!"

Georges pauses, this his lips curl into a sneer. "You're a fucking whore."

I smile, angry yet satisfied. "Doesn't that feel good Georgie? After all those fucking years of thinking it, you finally get to say it! That's right everyone, you know what Georges really thinks of me!" I laugh, running my hand over the back of my neck. "See," I start, my voice cracking. "This is how I know you don't love me. Because you don't give a fucking shit about my feelings, you don't give a shit about the person I am, you just want me to be the person that you find ideal. Georges, you, I always considered you my best friend, and I was okay with that, and I need you to be okay with that too, because that's we're going to be, and nothing more."

"Oh fuck you, Phillip," Georges huffs. "You know you're just gonna cheat on Peter like your dad cheated on your pop. Like father like son, Pip."

It takes a lot of restraint not to punch him in the jaw again. "Shut the fuck up! You don't know fucking shit! I don't give a damn if you are all pissy because you weren't the guy I ended up with, you have no right to say any of the shit you're saying!"

"And you had no right to lead me on for three years! You knew I had feelings for you, and you just played with me and then left!" Georges says.

"Yeah, I realized it like, two months ago!" I say. "Look, I'm sorry you felt that way, but you need to just, I just, I can't handle you acting like this! You're acting like a child!"

"Fuck you, Phillip, you know I'm right," Georges growls.

I look down, trying to hold back tears. "No, you know what? I can't I can't do this right now. I'm, I'm done with fighting. I'm not going to fight with you anymore. I'm done."

I turn and leave, grabbing my bag and pushing past people. I can hear Theo yelling at Georges, but I ignore it. I really just want to get out of here. I really just want to go get really fucked up and pass out and not go to school tomorrow and fucking just, just go into a coma for ten years and not wake up for a little while. A good coma, that sounds fucking nice. I just want to sleep all this away. Sleep away my fucking life, sleep away every problem. I could really use a good car to hit me right now. Let's just forget everything.

"Phillip! Wait!" I hear a voice call.

I wipe tears from my cheeks and turn to see Peter, looking concerned, running up to me, his face contorted into a look of concern. I sigh and stop, letting him catch up to where I'm standing. I really just want to go, but I don't want to be rude to him.

"Phillip, are you okay?" He asks softly, gently placing his hand on my arm.

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just, I need to go for a walk, I need to cool off alone, yeah?"

"Hey," Peter says softly. "Yeah. Look, take your time and cool off and do whatever, but call me if you need a ride anywhere. Text me when you get home so I know you're safe, alright? I just, I want you to be okay, feel safe. Please don't get hurt, okay?"

I nod. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what Georges said. I'm just, God, that was a fucking shit show. You have full permission to just like, pick me up and carry me out of there if that ever happens again. I really, that was not how I wanted to spend this wonderful Wednesday afternoon."

"It's okay," Peter mumbles.

I sigh, gently taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. "I'll text you when I get home, or if I need a ride or something. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah no problem," Peter mumbles, gently planting a kiss on my head.

I nod and begin walking down the street, pulling my earbuds out of my back pocket and putting them in. I turn on a weird dark playlist and sigh, making my way down the streets of New York. Suddenly, my phone starts buzzing. I pull it out and look to see a text from my dad, as well as one from my pop, both saying something like 'you got into a fight with Georges?' I groan and remember Theo with her phone out, filming me as I slugged Georges in the jaw. My phone begins buzzing with a call from Lafayette, but I just ignore it, pressing the call decline button. My phone keeps buzzing with more calls from literally everyone my parents know, including Washington. My phone goes quiet for a second, and then I get a call from Eliza.

"Hey," I say, picking up.

"Hey, kid," she says calmly. "How are you doing?"

"I know my parents asked you to call me," I state, brushing past a group of businessmen. "This is about what happened with Georges, isn't it?"

Eliza sighs. "I saw the video."

"Wow, Theo is real good at keeping secrets," I laugh sarcastically, feeling a bit annoyed at the girl for literally sending it to everyone.

"Hey, don't be mad at her, she's worried about you, dear," Eliza states slowly.

I sigh. "I know. I know. I just, the argument was kinda personal, and I'm just pissed off about it. I'm pissed at Georges for picking it in front of everyone. I pissed at Georges for all the shit he said and did. God, I just." I groan. "It was kinda a shitty day."

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Eliza asks sweetly.

"Yeah, uh..." I sigh. "He told me he was in love with me, and the thing is, I'm really not in love with him. Like, he's my best friend, but I don't want to take it any farther. Hell, I just recently officially got together with Peter, and I really like being with Peter. I told Georges I didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't want to like, go over this and he kept arguing and then he accused me of hiding my real feelings and I'm just, like, wow. I've seen dudes take rejection badly, but he brought up some shit that like, it was just, I dunno, it's all fucked."

"Yeah, Lafayette is pissed, and so is Herc," Eliza mumbles. "I do not think Georges is getting off easy. What are you feeling? Like, Georges said some really harsh things, and you have to be a little hurt by it at least."

I let out a dark chuckle. "It fucking hurt. Eliza I just, I'm so sick of living like this. I'm so sick of fire coming from all sides. I don't want to do this anymore."

She pauses. "Phillip, sweetie, what do you mean by that?"

"I..." I take a deep breath. "Eliza, if it's not my parents, it's Georges. If it's not Georges, it's overdosing in Lafayette's kitchen. If it's not that, it's some guy forcing me to my knees behind a broken car. I can't catch a fucking break. Whenever something starts to go good, something else happens. Where does it say I'm not allowed to be happy? Why can't I be happy? I want to, to have some fucking story where things are fixed and everything is right again, but whenever I feel like I'm over the hill, something else happens. I'm so, I'm so sick of this. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to wake up tomorrow and have to deal with the aftermath of all this bullshit. I don't want to listen to my parents lecture me on why I shouldn't have punched Georges. Eliza, I don't want to wake up tomorrow."

"Phillip, hey, sweetie, whoa whoa whoa," Eliza starts. "Hold on, do you mean that?"

I sniffle, holding back tears, though I'm sure plenty of people walk down the street in New York City crying. "I do. I can't do this anymore, Eliza. I can't live like this. Half of the year of my life has been total hell, and at this point, it's not showing any signs of turning again. Even before that, I just, I'm fucking sad no matter what. It doesn't matter anymore. Shit could be going great and I'm still fucking sad. I'm sick of the bruises people leave on me. I'm sick of the way my wrists still hurt, I'm sick of the way I can still feel people touching me even when I'm alone in my room. I can't do this anymore."

"Phillip, sweetie, you need to go home, you need to go home and see your parents. They're there, waiting for you. Sweetie, you need to go home," Eliza states. "You need to call a cab, or just call your parents, get picked up. You need to go home. They won't be mad at you, I promise. You need to talk to them."

"I'm sorry Eliza, I gotta go," I mumble.

"No, Phillip wait!" Eliza starts. I don't wait though, I hang up. Then I put my phone on airplane mode and continue walking, making my way to a subway station and climbing down the steps into the hot and heavy air. I jump over the turnstile and land on the other side, then enter the main area, sitting on a bench and waiting for the number six train that'll take me downtown. It doesn't take long for it to pull in, and soon enough I'm getting on, standing and holding onto a pole as the train shakes and rocks it's way down the tracks until we end up at my stop.

I get off and continue walking down the street, ignoring the tourists and rich white kids who live in this area, heading to the poorer side of it. It doesn't take long to find myself in the East Village, passing by the marble cemetery and entering the D & D Salvage. My eyes droop as I fumble with my wallet, approaching a few people who are obviously doing a drug exchange.

"Hey," I mumble. "You got any extra pills?"

"Yeah, we got some real strong Vicodin, fifteen dollars a pill, it'll fuck you up," one of the guys who's selling states.

I pull out thirty dollars in cash. "Gimme two."

"Man, looks like someone knows how to get lit," a dude, who is obviously high off his ass, laughs as he takes a few pills. "You know, wait around a few hours and the heroin addicts come out. You don't gotta pay them. They're too high to even realize you don't usually come around. You can just tell 'em to tie you up and boom, best high ever."

"Thanks for the advice," I mumble, taking the two pills from the guy's hand and swallowing them without hesitation.

"Why don't you hang out with us, kid?" The guy who gave me the pills says. "I know Eaker has been doing you dirty, so we won't do anything to you. It just looks like you need some company."

I nod, letting out a bitter chuckle. "I'm Phillip Hamilton."


	35. This whole ass chapter is a trigger warning so don't say I didn't warn you

/Phillip/

"And that's how I lost my virginity to an All-Star Sneaker and a thin mint," the guy who gave me pills, Ben, says, gently passing over a lit cigarette to me. "Truth or dare, Phillip?"

We had been playing truth or dare for the past four hours, smoking whatever we could get our hands on, drinking whatever we could get our hands on. Currently, I am being handed my fifth cigarette tonight, which I am accompanying with scotch from Ben's flask. The question I asked Ben, was what the best moment of his life was, and he went into a long detailed story about many things that I did not need to know. That's okay though because he promised he'd help me get hooked up with some heavy drugs. I've never really done anything heavier than opioids, but he told me that it would feel great. I don't see any reason not to trust him, though I have very little reasons to trust him. I'm sure it'll be fine though, people are usually pretty nice.

"Truth," I mumble, leaning against the tire on an old car. I wish I could say the hours of self-medication did something for my mood, but I still feel completely like shit. Georges' words still flash through my mind. The feeling of Eaker's hands on me is still imprinted onto my skin. I feel sick, but I refuse to throw up, not wanting to disrupt my high in any way. I've swallowed back vomit several times, making my stomach hurt more than usual.

"Are you going to die tonight?" Ben asks, his voice casual.

"With any luck," I mutter flicking some ash off the cigarette and inhaling. That was one thing I kept thinking about. I really don't know where this whole suicidal idealization came from, but right now, death is looking pretty sweet. Yeah, maybe some things got better, but the shit that Jacky and Eaker did? That's going to stay with me for the rest of my life. I don't want to do that for the rest of my life. I don't want to have to know that they hurt me for the rest of my life.

"Then heroin is usually the way to go," Ben laughs, lighting up his own cigarette and bringing it to his lips, letting out a sigh. "Man, this is the fucking life, don't you think?"

I groan. "Not at all, Benny, not at all."

"Man, you're real sad, aren't you?" Ben asks.

I chuckle. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he answers.

I stop, thinking for a second as I sip some of the scotch in the flask, then bring the cigarette back to my lips. "I dare you to let me chug the rest of your flask."

"Damn, you're good," he mumbles. "Okay, do it."

I laugh and down the rest of the burning liquid, coughing and feeling vomit come up my throat. I swallow it down and quickly take another inhale of the cigarette, feeling my hands shake lightly as a cold sweat drips down my back. I still have one earbud in, listening to some weird music. I haven't taken my phone off of airplane mode, I've turned off my location, and I've basically disabled in way of contact with me. My parents are probably going to be pissed, but I really don't think it's going to matter.

"Oh, hey, look, the addicts are out, come on," Ben says, standing up like he hasn't been smoking and drinking all night. It takes me a second to get myself up, and I really have to grip the car to be able to stand, and I almost topple over again when Ben claps my shoulder, but luckily he catches me and pulls me over to a group of people.

Anxiety fills my stomach as I sit down on a milk crate, watching other people shoot up. I've never done this before, and I've heard people can get really bad trips. I've also heard that it releases such amazing amounts of euphoria and dopamine through your body, and I really need some of that. I know I've got addiction practically running through my veins, due to my pop's alcoholism. I've received that trait most likely, which makes me very susceptible to addiction, but I feel like it doesn't really matter if I don't want to make it past tonight. Why not go wild? Who says Heroin overdose isn't the way to go? And even if it doesn't kill me, at least I'll have this activity crossed off my bucket list.

"Who's the kid?" Someone asks.

"He's looking to die tonight, so let's hook him up," Ben says, smiling. Something about how casual he is about this irks me. I feel like Ben and I are not going to be keeping in contact, and I really don't even know what he looks like now from how dark out it is, so who's to say I'd remember him later? If I even make it.

"Alright," says someone, coming over to me.

They slip off my jacket and grab my arm roughly, pulling out a strip of thin rubber and tying it around my bicep, a bit above my elbow. I'm leaning against someone who smells like cigarettes and cat piss, though I really don't know who. The rubber is too tight, and it hurts, making my fingers feel numb and tingly. Someone is patting the crook of my elbow quickly, mumbling curses under their breath.

"I ain't gonna give him enough to kill him, he's too high to make that choice," they mumble, swiping a spoon with an alcohol wipe. I watch them mix powder and water together in the bowl part of the spoon, then pull out a vile and a fresh needle from a package. I focus on other people shooting up around me as they pull the liquid into the needle. It's not a lot, only reaching up past one or two lines, but I don't know what a normal amount looks like.

"Is this gonna hurt?" I ask quietly, swallowing back another mouthful of vomit. I really don't feel like throwing up right now, especially in front of all these people, who don't exactly look nice enough to help me get home.

"You ever did this before?" They ask.

I shake my head.

"Then don't worry," they state, flicking the vile a bit. "It'll feel great."

I nod and watch as grab my arm and pat the crook of my elbow one more time before they push the needle into my skin. It pinches a little bit, but I know it would probably pinch more if I wasn't as high as I am. I've always been really sensitive to needles, and usually, get a panic attack from being within a few feet of them, but I'm way too out of it right now to even process that this thin piece of metal is inside my vein. I watch as they push the liquid in, and then I wait. I'm still leaning against someone, though I don't think it's Ben. I really don't think he's here anymore.

"When will it set in?" I ask slowly as they untie the rubber strip and tie it around their own arm, most likely getting ready to shoot up themselves.

"Real soon," says the person in front of me, exchanging the needle on the vile and beginning to mix up the drug in the spoon again.

I'm about to say something else, but then suddenly, a burst of euphoria hits me. My eyes roll back in my head and I fall off the milk crate I'm sitting on, hitting the ground. Small laughs and giggles escape my chest as I watch the fire. My head spins, my heart beats slowly and my body tingles. Nausea and numbness that was spreading throughout my body stop as I feel warm feelings enter me. It feels like my blood just turned to sugar and is now providing me with the energy to be happy, but making me too weak to really move. I don't think about Goerges, I don't think about Eaker or Jacky, I think about how warm and happy I feel, how it's been so long since I last felt this great.

I don't know how much time passes. I don't know what's going on around me. All I know is that I'm so incredibly happy. My head is spinning and my body feels like it's floating. I feel sick and perfectly fine at the same time. I feel so warm, so very safe where I am. I watch the sun finish setting and I watch the stars appear. I've always liked the stars, they remind me of Peter, which makes me even happier. My heart feels like it's going way too slow, but at the same time, so incredibly fast. My chest hurts and it feels like my skin has turned to velvet. I can feel little bugs moving around under it, but I can't focus enough to find them. I can only lean against this milk crate and watch the skin. My eyelids keep closing, my eyes rolling back into my head, but I don't worry. I know I am so incredibly safe right now. I know that I'm going to stay warm and safe. So, as I pass out, my vision turning to grey, then black, I don't feel worried at all.

"Ah," I mumble as I sit up.

I'm not by the firepit anymore. I'm in the bed of a truck. My back hurts and my head is pounding. I'm quick to realize that not only am I unclothed, but I'm also not covered by a blanket. I jump and quickly look around, finding my clothes, and thankfully my phone and bag, bundled up in a corner. I check my phone to see it's been three hours since whoever it was shot me up. I groan, noticing some bruises on my wrists. What a way to spend the last night. I should probably ask someone what happened.

"Hey," I say to someone sitting near the old truck.

They look up at me, pretty out of it.

"How long was I out?" I ask.

They shrug. "You were fucking with someone, and then they left, so I really don't know."

I run my hand over my face. "Mm, thanks."

I get out of the truck and stumble forward for a few seconds, then vomit. I have to hold onto the truck to keep myself from face planting in a puddle of my own bile. I haven't really eaten much today, so the only thing I'm tasting is liquor and stomach acid. My throat feels raw, and after a couple heaves, I taste a bit of blood in my mouth. Ignoring it, I go around to the truck and peer in. I luck out and see a few unsmoked joints on the dash, as well as someone passed out in the driver's seat. I reach in and grab the joints, putting one behind one ear, another behind another ear, and then sticking on in my mouth.

"You got a light?" I ask the guy I talked to earlier.

"Yeah," he mumbles.

I lean down, letting him light the blunt, then accept a small book of matches from him before walking around, though my knees are shaking. I've never really explored this place, and I kinda want to see how far back it goes, so I find the entrance, then start walking in the exact opposite direction. I pass the group of heroin junkies, then move around some cars to continue on the path. I smoke the joint in my mouth down, then light the second up, seeing the top of a chain link fence close to me. I keep walking, turning around every so often to see if it's just the weed causing paranoia or if I'm actually being followed.

I make it to the fence and look into the alley it blocks out. On the other side, I see a door that is open, leading into a kitchen. I link my fingers through the chainlink, leaning against it and continue to take hits off of the joint, holding them in much longer than I probably should, then let it out. My body feels really fake right now, and I can't even think about what I did, what happened while I was passed out. Hope I didn't get another fucking STD, although, does it really matter anymore?

If I died right here, they probably wouldn't find my body for a couple of days. My parents would probably think I had just run away, but then someone would find me. I don't even know how I want to do this. I could definitely just overdose, but I think that might not be enough.

"What a coincidence, meeting you here," a voice says.

I whip around to see Eaker, standing there, swaying almost. "What do you want?"

He approaches me. "I want you, Phillip Hamilton. You left me with such a yearning a couple nights ago, and I can't get your body off of my mind."

"Please, just, just leave me alone," I mumble, looking down and shuffling my feet a bit.

"Come on, Phillip, don't be like that," Eaker mumbles, gently coming closer and pulling off my beanie. "You cut your hair... interesting."

"I'm tired, George," I mumble.

He smacks the side of my face, leaving a ringing in my ears. "I don't care."

I flinch but don't do much. I don't try and stop him as he peels off my clothes, throwing them to the ground. I don't try and stop him as he pushes me against a car and starts fucking me. I don't do anything really, just bite my lip and try to hold back tears. At one point, my head gets slammed against the car pretty hard, lining my vision with black.

"Eaker, that hurts," I mutter as he grips my hips much harder than needed.

"Shut up," he mumbles.

I sigh and look up at the sky, trying to count all the stars. I don't even feel Eaker. What I do feel is my heart breaking in my chest. Why can't I do more? Why can't I fight back? I don't, I don't want to be doing this. I was to be curled up in Peter's bed, watching a stupid Marvel movie and falling asleep. I don't know why I'm here, I don't know why I'm anywhere. I just want to go.

"Fuck, you're so good," Eaker mumbles as he pulls out.

"Can you please stop doing this?" I ask quietly, covering my body as I reach down for my clothes. "I just, I don't like doing things with you anymore."

Eaker pushes me down, and I gotta say, I don't exactly like lying on the ground of a junkyard, totally naked, while some twenty-two-year-old man stands above me. He spits on me, then leaves. I sigh, wiping it off and then get dressed again. For a second, I stay there on the ground, gripping my phone tightly in my hand, then I light my third blunt which landed safely on the ground and begins to walk back to the front.

"Hey, Phillip?" I hear a voice call as I get closer to the main area.

I look over to see El, sitting on a milk crate with Gov. "Oh, hey guys."

"You, you look like shit, oh my god," El mutters as I get closer. "Are you okay? What happened? Phillip, does this have to do with anything that happened on Friday?"

"I'm fine," I mumble. "It's just been a rough night. How are you doing?"

El shrugs, leaning back as I sit down. "My supplier came  _through_ tonight so I'm gonna be making some major money tomorrow." He pulls out a prescription bottle from his jacket, only it's filled with a lot of different pills. "Ain't she a beauty? Hundred bucks right there."

"Don't you have a tech job or something? Like, aren't you getting money?" I ask.

El nods, slipping off his coat and standing up. "Old habits die hard." He sighs, running his hand through his hair. "I'll be right back."

He walks away and I pull out my wallet, grabbing all the cash in there, which has to be a bit over a hundred and shove it in El's jacket pocket before dumping all the pills in my hand and taking them. I put the bottle back in his pocket with his cash, and then grab his flask, sipping it to wash everything down.

"That was naughty," Gov says.

"Don't tell him. I paid him, and it's been a rough night," I state.

"Naughty, naughty boy," Gov teases. "So sad, so so sad. Why are you such a sad boy?"

I shrug. "I'll be better after tonight."

"What's happening tonight?" Gov mumbles, scooting closer to me and putting his arm around me. "What are you gonna do?"

I shrug. "I dunno."

"You wanna watch some cat videos?" Gov asks.

I nod, sighing. "Yeah, I really do."

Gov pulls out his phone, unlocking it and pulling up Youtube. I lean against him, waiting for the pills to set in as he plays a cat video. I close my eyes, only listening to the sound. I feel El sit on the other side of me, gently running his hand over my short hair but not saying anything about it being cut. I hold back tears as I sit between the two of them. I wish I had just stayed with them all night. I wish I hadn't gotten into that fight with Georges. I wish I had just stayed home today. My parents offered since my ankle is still funky, but I came to school anyway.

"Hey, kid," El mumbles as he sits back down next to me.

"Yeah?" I reply, willing my voice not to crack as I keep my eyes closed under my sunglasses, hoping tears won't begin slipping down my cheeks.

"You need to go home," he mumbles. "Call someone, a friend, your folks, whoever. Go home. Get out of here. You gotta go."

"I don't wanna-"

El cuts me off. "You don't belong here, kid. Go home."

I sigh and nod, standing up and pulling out my phone. "I'm gonna call my boyfriend."

"Okay, stay safe," El mutters.

I walk over to an emptier area and lean against a car, taking my phone off of airplane mode. Instantly, about two hundred texts come in, and a hundred missed calls. Most of them are from my parents. I groan and click on Peter's contact, feeling the pills start to set in. I press the call button and wait a few seconds, then hear the click of our lines being connected.

"Phillip, oh my god," Peter whispers. "Jesus fuck, I was worried."

"Hey, can you come to pick me up? I can't, I can't walk very easily," I mumble.

"Yeah I can, where are you?" Peter responds, his voice obviously laced with concern.

"I'm-"

I can't finish my sentence though, because someone grabs my wrist. I recognize it as Eaker almost instantly from the tattoos on his hands. A sob breaks in my chest and I instantly begin struggling, trying to get him off of me, dropping my phone to the ground in the process.

"Shut up," he mumbles, boxing the side of my face.

"Please, please stop," I cry out. "Eaker I can't, I just, please, please."

"Fucking bitch," Eaker mumbles, pushing me against the car I was leaning against and walking away.

I scramble for my phone, tears still in my eyes. "Peter? Are you still there?"

"Where are you?" He asks.

"D & D Salvage," I respond.

"I'll be there in ten," he says quietly before hanging up.

I sigh, walking shakily back to El and Gov, tears freely flowing down my cheeks. El takes one look at me and then scoops me up in his arms. I grip his shirt, crying, trying to take deep breaths and calm myself, though it isn't working too well.

"Can you come to wait with me out front?" I ask him quietly after a few more minutes of me sobbing into his chest. "My boyfriend is gonna be there real soon."

"Yeah, yeah of course," El mumbles, gently placing his arm around me. We walk in silence, passing outside the gate and sitting on the sidewalk. I lean against him, my chest hurting and my eyes still leaking tears. El gently rubs my arm, whispering small things to me.

"I think I cheated on Peter," I mumble.

"What do you mean?" El asks slowly.

I shrug. "I passed out and I woke up in the back of a truck with no clothes on, and someone said I was fucking around with someone. Then I was sort of just walking around and Eaker found me and he-"

"I'm gonna kill him," El mutters quietly. He sighs, then gently looks at me. "You need to tell Peter what happened. Phillip, this wasn't your fault. You are high off your ass right now, and no one had any right to touch you."

"This is so fucking stupid," I mutter. "I'm so sick of everything being like this."

"You gotta stay away from here," El mutters. "Next time I see you around here, I'm just gonna take you home. I'm not, I just, I shouldn't have let you come back."

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this and making you worry."

"Hey, no, don't be sorry," El mumbles. "Just, get out of here. We can meet up for coffee if you miss me, smoke pot somewhere else. Not here though. You gotta get out of here."

I begin crying again. "I miss my parents."

"Shh, it's okay. What kind of car does your boyfriend drive?" El asks.

I shrug. "Red, uh, Acura I think? I don't know, I don't even drive."

El sighs, gently running his hand over my hair. "It's okay. I'll look."

It doesn't take long for Peter to pull up and get out. I shoot up and basically fall into his arms. Peter instantly hugs me, resting his chin on the top of my head, holding me as close to his body as he can. I'm gripping his jacket, trying not to fall, though I know I'm pretty close to it since all those pills I took are beginning to set in.

"Hey, do you know a guy named Eaker?" Peter asks slowly.

"Yeah, I'm about to go beat the shit out of him, why?" El replies.

"He was bothering Pip while he was on the phone with me, so hit him good," Peter mumbles, gently running his hand through my hair.

"I'm gonna beat him until he forgets his fucking name," El growls, then stalks away.

"Come on, Phillip, let's get you home," Peter mumbles, gently helping me into the passenger seat.

"Thank you," I mutter, curling up and putting on my seatbelt.

Peter closes my door then gets on the other side. "Yeah, of course. We've been looking for you all night."

"Who?" I ask.

"Everyone," Peter replies. "Your parents, my parents, Washington, the Burrs. Eliza and Maria are driving down as we speak to... Fuck, your parents, I gotta call them. Tell them you're okay. God knows they were worried sick."

"Tell them I'm sleeping, I don't want to talk to them right now," I state quickly.

Peter sighs but pulls out his phone, calling my parents while driving. I want to get on him for texting and driving, my body feels like it's deflating, so I'm just gonna focus on that instead of Peter's dangerous driving skills.

"Hey, John, Alex," Peter states. "Yeah, he's asleep in the passenger seat of my car. I'm headed back to your house to drop him off. He looks fine, physically, no lacerations or anything." Peter pauses. "Yeah, he crashed the moment he sat down. It's like, four in the morning though, and he's probably been up for a while." Peter pauses again. "Yeah, when I drop him off I'll tell him you said so. I'm about ten minutes from the house, what about you?" Peter pauses. "Washington Heights? Damn, that's pretty far away." Another quick pause. "Okay, I'll make sure he gets inside. Bye."

"What'd they say?" I ask.

"Well, your pop was crying so your dad did most of the talking. He sounded very relieved that you were okay, said he's thirty minutes away from the house, and wanted me to tell you he loves you very much, and he isn't mad," Peter says. "Though, that last part is really from both of them. John sounded pretty happy you were okay."

I nod, taking a deep breath and placing my hands between my thighs to warm them up. "Yeah, okay, thanks."

"Hey, I heard you were like, I dunno, talking some pretty heavy things, are you good? Like, you're not going to do anything, right?" Peter mumbles, stopping at a stop light since there is a cop car across us at the intersection.

"Yeah, no, I'm not," I say, you know, like a liar.

"Alright, good," Peter replies. He reaches across and gently takes my hand. I hold it, closing my eyes and trying to hold back tears and vomit. I really don't know what would be less attractive right now, vomiting all over Peter's car or having another mental breakdown. I know he wouldn't be mad, but I don't want to bother him anymore tonight. Well, no more than I'm about to.

"I gotta tell you something," I mumble.

Peter glances over. "Is everything okay?"

I take a deep breath, squeezing his hand a bit tighter. "I think I cheated on you."

Peter pauses for a second, biting his lip. "You  _think_ you cheated on me? I mean, I hate to sound abrasive, but usually, it's a pretty sure thing when you cheat on something."

I sigh, shaking my head. "I just, I don't know. I passed out at some point tonight, and someone said I was like  _with_ someone else, I don't know, I have no recollection of it, and then I was alone and someone just came on to me and I really couldn't stop him, and he was the guy who messed with me on Friday and he was the guy who was bothering me when I was on the phone with you and I'm really sorry and I'm sorry Georges was right and I just, I didn't know what was going on, I don't even think I was conscious for one of the times and then the other time I didn't even want to he just held me down and I asked him to stop and I'm really sorry I did this and I know this just proves everything Georges said to be right and look, if you don't want to be with me anymore I totally understand and I-"

"Phillip, Phillip stop," Peter says.

I close my mouth, staring at his hand, which is still clutching mine.

"Phillip," Peter says slowly. "Phillip I need you to listen to me, alright?"

I nod. "Okay."

"This wasn't your fault," Peter says slowly. "It wasn't your fault. Tomorrow, tomorrow I'm gonna come over and talk to your parents for a little bit, tell them what happened, okay? They need to know. I'm gonna be right here. Don't, don't feel sorry, it's okay. You're okay."

I sniffle. "I just, I didn't want to and I-"

Peter cuts me off. "I know, I know. It's okay, I'm right here."

I squint my eyes shut and hold back tears, willing myself not to break into sobs. I squeeze Peter's hand a bit tighter, feeling him gently taps on my knuckles, a steady beat. I know that means he's upset, and I wish I could do more, but I kinda got some shit I'm gonna plan out. I only will have a little bit of time before my parents get home and I really don't want to draw this out.

My dad has half a bottle of opioids, strong ones, left over from his knee surgery a few years back, and then our house has an abundance of exacto knives, so really, this could be a slice of pie. A piece of cake. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

"Hey, do you want me to come in and wait with you until your parents get home?" Peter asks as we pull up to my house.

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine. Look, just, you need to go home, go to sleep. You look tired. Please, just, if you really wanna do something for me, take care of yourself, alright? You promise you're gonna take care of yourself?"

Peter nods slowly. "Yeah, I promise."

"And call Theo for me, make sure she takes care of herself too, make sure she goes to bed," I continue. "Lord knows she doesn't get enough sleep."

"Yeah, I will, are you okay?" Peter asks.

I nod, gently kissing his hand. "Yeah, I just, I don't want you guys hurting yourself for me. Go to bed now, alright hun?"

Peter nods. "Alright. See you tomorrow."

I smile gently, getting out of the car. "See you tomorrow."

I quickly walk inside, pushing open the front door and climbing up the stairs in this empty house. I slip off my shoes and go to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, pulling out the prescription bottle and slipping it into my pocket. I clumsily make my way upstairs, stumbling around as the pills I took set in more. My vision is becoming blurry and my knees feel like they're about to give out. Luckily, I make my way to the art room, grabbing a handful of exacto blade and then basically falling back down the stairs, squeezing the blades so tightly that they dig into the skin on my hand, drawing blood. I skip the third-floor bathroom and go straight to the second floor, closing the door and locking myself in.

"Fuck," I mutter as my knees give out on me, causing me to fall and not only drop the pill bottle, but all the exacto blades in my hand. I groan, lifting myself up and gathering a few of the blades, as well as the pills. I slip off my sweater and sit down in the tub, groaning as pain shoots through my chest. An ache begins to grow in my joints, so I find it easy to down the half bottle of pills. My skin begins to itch and for a second, all I can do it curl up, my eyes leaking tears as I let out a strangled sob.

My heart feels as if it's pounding in my chest, and pain basically paralyzes me as I try to calm down. I want this to be over. It hurts so much, and I'm done with this. I reach forward and grab a razor, holding it in my hand and letting out a bit of a scream as my chest begins hurting again. My stomach hurts so badly, but I know throwing up will stop the pills. I can't do that. I don't want to do this anymore. I just want to sleep.

Pushing the razor into my wrist hurts a lot more than I expected. I cry out, pushing it in as hard as I can and dragging it down. Blood pours out as I reach the end of my wrist, pulling the razor out. Tears leak down my cheeks as I watch it. It spills over my jeans, staining the bottom of the tub. Despite the pain, and the metal slipping between my blood covered fingers, I hold it in my other hand and bring it down to my other wrist, pushing in and crying out yet again, leaning forward and pulling the razor down as far as I can before pulling it off my arm.

"Shit," I groan, pulling my phone out of my back pocket, wiping it off on my shirt. I turn it on the check to see if my parents texted me or something, but instead, I see something from Peter. I unlock my phone, leaving red fingerprints on the screen where my passcode is. I click on the messages and then click on Peter's log, sighing as I glance over the paragraph, then begin reading.

'Hey, Phillip, I don't know if your parents are there yet, but I'm about to pass out on my living room couch. I couldn't make it to my room, and I promised you I'd sleep, so I'm putting up with the couch so I don't have to keep my exhausted ass up longer than necessary. Anyway, I guess I really texted you to tell you how much I care about you. I know you had a most likely horrible night, and I know shit's probably sucked for a bit, but, I dunno, it's not gonna suck when we're in Asia together doing some weird Asian things. I started learning Chinese, just to prepare for that. I know I'll never compare to you, speaking your thousand languages, but I just thought that maybe I could learn Chinese, you could learn Korean, and we could be like, some ethnic kick-ass couple traveling around Asia. Anyway, I'm getting way too off topic. I just thought I'd let you know that I really care about you, and I'm gonna be there for you. You mean a lot to me, way more than most people do. So, yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. I know you know, and remember that I know too. Sweet dreams.'

A sob breaks from my chest as I shakily click the call button, blood still seeping from the deep lacerations on my wrist. It rings four times, then I get sent to voicemail. Tears roll down my cheeks as I hear the familiar 'hey, this is Peter, I'm either fucking or working, so you know the drill.' It almost brings a laugh from me, but it comes out as a sob. The machine tells me it's time to leave a message, and then the monotone beep rings through my ears.

"Hey, Peter," I say, hiccuping. "Uh, I just got your text and I felt like I should call you. You're probably sleeping though, so don't feel bad. Uh, no, I would learn Korean. That sounds good. Maybe that's what we can put on our college applications. 'Member of an ethnic kick-ass couple who traveled around Asia.' I'm sure that would be an eye-catcher." I almost laugh, though it's quite obvious I'm crying. "Uh, I really just wanted to say thanks for picking me up. You didn't have to do that, but you did, so thank you. And, uh..." I pause, taking a deep breath. "I love you. I really do. I know we've had one too many confessions in the past twenty-four hours, but I love you. So, yeah. Anyway, I should probably go. So, uh, bye."

I hang up and put the phone down, my hands shaking. I look down at my arms, which are still leaking. I have to swallow back vomit, looking at the way the skin separates. It looks disgusting and is something I've only seen in medical dramas. I feel really light headed, and I can't tell if that's just because of the blood loss or the pills. My jeans feel sticky from the blood that's been dropping onto them. I feel sick, my chest still hurts, and my stomach is turning very uncomfortably. I lean back, staring at the tiles on the bathroom wall, sighing.

When I was five, my dad set up a big water slide area for the kids in the backyard. I think this was right before Peter because I don't really remember him in this memory. I do remember sliding around in water and dish soap on a big tarp while Washington barbecued and my pop drew. My dad was watching over Georges, Theo, and I. We were laughing, squealing, playing in the soapy water, then, Washington called out that it was almost time for dinner, so my dad scooped me up and brought me to the second floor bathroom, while John brought Theo to the third floor bathroom, and Washington hosed Georges off by request, and then provided a towel. My dad and I sang as he washed all the grass from my hair, drawing shapes on the tile with the bubbles. I was sitting right here, smiling as he made a silly voice for my rubber duck.

"Goddammit," I mutter, looking over to where he knelt twelve years ago. I can almost hear his voice, singing a song he had made up for me. My heart begins to hurt, but not in the way it has been. It hurts because for the thousandth time tonight, it's breaking. It's breaking, because I know if I die tonight, my parents will have to be the ones finding me in this tub. I know my pop will stand there, shaking while my dad instantly breaks, sobbing and trying to get me to wake up. I know that any progress they've made with their marriage would be torn down and thrown in the gutter. I know that Peter would forever feel guilty for just leaving me here, even though I asked him. I know that Theo would break down, have a big mental snap and probably never be the same person again. I know these people love me.

I try to push myself out of the tub, but with the deep cuts on my wrist, it hurts to bad. I can only let out a strangled sob as I fall back down, tears rolling down my face. I lean forward, rocking myself as I try to think my way out. I'm really too weak to do anything at this point. I've lost enough blood to really cause some wild feelings, and I've taken enough pills to knock out a horse. Oh my god, what is this is how I die? I can't, I can't do that to my family, my parents, Theo. I can't do this to them.

A sob breaks from my chest as I hear the door open into the living room. Hoping this will give me the adrenaline rush I need, I once again try to lift myself from the tub, though it hurts more this time and I let out practically a scream. I fall back into the tub, leaning against the wall and sobbing as I hold my bleeding wrists to my chest.

"Phillip!" I hear my dad's voice call.

"Phillip, sweetie, are you in there?" My pop calls gently, knocking on the door.

"Dad, pop, help me, please," I cry out, still holding my wrists to my chest.

"Sweetie, we need you to open the door," my pop states calmly, as if he's done this a hundred times before. "Then we can come in and talk."

"I can't," I say, another sob coming out in the process.

"Phillip, why can't you open the door?" My dad says, most likely trying to open the door since the knob is jiggling.

"I can't get up! There's a lot of blood, and I took a lot of pills, and I feel like I'm going to pass out or vomit, my chest really hurts, and I just..." I pause, my chest shaking as I stare down the oak door. "I don't want to die."


	36. Stay Alive (reprise)

****/Alex/

"I don't want to die," Phillip says from the other side of the door.

My heart stops. Then it breaks. My knees feel weak and tears come to my eyes as I stop trying to turn the doorknob. John, whose hand is on my shoulder, gasps and covers his mouth. Both of us are frozen for a second, probably just trying to process what has been said to us. He took stuff, and there's blood. Did he, is he trying to kill himself?

"Where's the key to the bathroom?" I mumble, instantly going for the key bowl on the table, even though I know the tiny piece of steel is long gone in whatever junk drawer we put it in. I still look though but jump when I hear a loud sound. I look over and realize John has literally kicked down the door to the bathroom. I rush over, entering the doorway of the bathroom. I almost throw up at the sight. Phillip is in the bathtub, his arms covered in blood. The rim of the tub has a couple of handprints like he tried to stand up but couldn't.

"Okay, okay," John says quickly. "Alex, I need you to help me get Phillip out of the tub and then I need you to hold him while I bandage up his arms."

"We need to take him to a hospital!" I exclaim, moving forward into the bathroom with John and watching as John gently lifts the boy out of the tub and stands him up, leaning him against me. Phillip is sobbing uncontrollably, and I have to wrap my arms around his torso to keep him standing upright.

"He's going to bleed out in the car ride there, so sit down and let me stop the bleeding," John snaps, pulling out medical supplies from under the sink.

Startled by his tone, I carefully sit down, Phillip between my legs. His head keeps rolling back, then snapping upwards, as if Phillip is willing himself not to fall asleep. His blood is dripping off of his arms, onto the grey fabric of my sweatpants, which I slipped on before heading out the door since driving around in work clothes for ten hours wasn't my idea of a good time. Well, frantically looking for my son in a city with over six million people in it isn't my idea of a good time, but cheap fabric would make it worse.

"Hey, that's right, Phillip," I say, snapping my hand in front of his face as John takes his arm. "Stay awake, there we go."

"Two deep lacerations to the wrist," John mumbles. "Lost what looks to be about three pints of blood." John takes a towel and wipes the blood away from one wrist, bringing a cry from Phillip. "I'm going to apply butterfly stitches, then cut off circulation from the arm."

"We're gonna what?" I say, my eyes wide. "John, with all due respect to the veterinarian, I think we should take our human  _son_ to the hospital!"

"I know what I'm doing," John mumbles. He begins taping the deep cut closed, then puts gauze over it and wraps it tightly with Ace bandage and then tightly tying off the area just above Phillip's elbow before moving to the next arm. "Phillip, honey, I need you to tell me and your dad what you took, okay? We're not going to be mad, I promise."

Phillip groans. "I took, I took Vicodin, and your painkillers from surgery, dad, and then, then I took so much of a bunch of things. I don't know. I don't know what else I took."

"Alright, dear, do you know anyone who may know what you took? I'm not mad, I just want you to be okay," John says sweetly. When has he done this before?

"El, El knows. I took it from him," Phillip mumbles.

"Okay, do you have his number?" John asks.

Phillip nods.

"Okay, we're gonna call him when we get to the hospital. Phillip, what's the password to your phone?" John continues, tightly wrapping Ace bandage around Phillip's arm.

"Six one four two eight," Phillip answers slowly, shivering as John ties up the space above his elbow on his other arm.

"Okay, Alex, go start the car, I'm gonna carry Phillip out, and you're gonna sit in the backseat while I drive, alright?" John says sweetly, gently taking Phillip from my arms. "Please grab a blanket on your way out."

I nod and quickly stand up, running into the living room and grabbing a blanket, then going as fast as I can out to the car and starting it. John comes out a second later, Phillip still in his arms. I get in the backseat and John lays Phillip down, my son's head in my lap. Phillip rolls onto his side, curling up and letting out a heartbreaking groan. I sigh quietly, gently running my fingers through Phillip's hair as John begins driving.

"Alex, dear, talk to Phillip, try to keep him awake. If he stays conscious, it's way more likely that he's gonna be okay," John says, his voice slow and steady.

"Oh, okay, alright, Phillip, Phillip dear, hey," I start, gently making sure his eyes are still open. "Hey, dear, so, tomorrow your pop and I wanted to take you to a movie, but we don't know which one you want to see, could you tell us if there are any new movies that look interesting?"

Phillip shudders. "There's a new Spiderman out, and he's Puerto Rican, like us."

I smile sadly, still playing with his hair. "That sounds real nice. Where would you like to eat afterward? We could get ice cream, or Chinese, or go to that God awful pizza place you and pop love so much."

He almost chuckles. "It's not bad, you're just picky." He starts coughing and I instantly begin rubbing his back, as Thomas does with James. He stops, gripping the blanket that I threw over him. "My chest hurts. It hurts to talk."

"Okay, I Just need you to listen to me then, try to stay awake, alright?" I say sweetly, placing my hand over his.

He nods. "Can you sing to me?"

I sigh, thinking for a second of what to sing, then I remember a little tune I wrote for him when he was first born. I take a deep breath and begin, willing myself not to cry. "Ooh, Phillip when you smile I am undone, my son. Look at my son. Pride is not the word I'm looking for, there is so much more inside me now. Ooh, Phillip, you outshine the morning sun, my son. And when you smile? I fall apart, and I thought I was so smart." I stop, taking in a shaky breath and willing myself not to cry. "My father wasn't around, my mother wasn't around, I swear that I'll be around for you. I'll do whatever it takes, I'll make a million mistakes, I'll make the world safe and sound for you. You will come of age with our young nation. We'll bleed and fight for you, we'll make it right for you. If we lay a strong enough foundation, we'll pass it on to you. We'll give the world to you and you'll blow us all away, some day, some day, yeah you'll blow us all away." I lean down, gently kissing Phillip's forehead. "Someday, someday, yeah, you'll blow us all away."

"I haven't heard that in years," Phillip mumbles, his eyes drooping.

"Hey, no, Phillip, I need you to stay awake for me buddy," I say, shaking him gently.

"I'm so tired," he groans, a bit of sob coming out.

"Hey, hey let's practice your French," I suggest, remembering how Phillip and I used to count in the car when he was young. He learned French, English, and Spanish all around the same ages, so he's been learning them since he was just a good, and is easily a master at all of them. I couldn't be prouder.

"I know my French," Phillip mumbles.

"I know, I know, but for old times sake," I convince. "Now, repeat after me. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf," I sing lightly.

Phillip echoes the tune back to me, gripping my hand with tears running down his cheeks. "Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."

I nod, sniffling and feeling tears run down my cheeks as well. "Good. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."

Phillip, his head nodding, begins to sing it back. "Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six..."

"Sept, huit, neuf," I whisper, hoping he just forgot.

Phillip's head falls back a bit and his eyes shut. The tight grip around my hand loosens and his arm goes slack.

I shake him a bit. "Sept, huit..." A sob breaks through my chest. "John, John he's not awake! John, what do I do?"

"Check his pulse!" John calls back. "On his neck, it's where the pulse is the strongest!"

Shaking, I press two fingers to his neck. It takes a few seconds, but I do feel it. It's slow, but it's there. "Okay, okay I found his pulse, what do I do now?"

"Okay, I want you to keep him on his side, turn his head so that's on its side too in case he starts throwing up." John seems way to calm about this, but sometimes when he's going through something, a lot of his emotions just shut down. "Keep your fingers on his pulse, and if it stops, you're going to have to do CPR. Now, Alex, sweetie, do you know how to do CPR?"

"Uh, I don't know," I mumble, keeping my fingers pressed against Phillip's pulse.

"Alright, honey, well you're gonna learn," John continues. "You know the song Stayin Alive by the Bee Gees, yeah? Remember, they would always play it at basketball games when we were kids in middle school."

"I do," I answer softly, syncing my breath with Phillip's heartbeat.

"Okay, well, you're going to push down on his chest to the beat of that song," John explains to me. "No breaths, a bunch of studies just proved that the breathing does nothing. Now, don't do this lightly, CPR is meant to break ribs. Hopefully, we don't come to that, since I'm a block away from the hospital, but I want you to be prepared to start doing CPR, alright, dear?"

I nod. "Okay, okay, okay."

"Alex, dear, I need you to take deep breaths for me. Panicking isn't going to help anyone," John says sweetly. "Just listen to my voice, make sure Phillip's heart is still beating. Don't let him roll onto his back. Deep breaths, Alex."

I take a few deep breaths, though it doesn't feel like it's working.

"Okay, I'm pulling into the hospital parking lot, and I'm gonna carry Phillip into the emergency room," John says, more talking to himself than me. "It's not a shift change, so it'll just be night shift. Okay, we can do this."

The car stops and John is out in an instant. I hand Phillip to him and have to jog to keep up with how fast John in walking. I've never seen him look so determined to do anything ever, but then again, this is the life of our son. I can't lose him. I need him to stay alive. I need him to stay with us. Losing your child, that's something no one can ever really shake. I know John can't take another heartbreak.

"My son!" John cries out, running into the emergency room. "He took medication and slit his wrists! We need help immediately!"

A gurney is rushed over and we set Phillip down, walking with the nurses and doctor who have arrived. The nurses instantly lay him on his side, holding him there and rolling the gurney faster that I knew people could go. The doctor walks behind them, next to us.

"Do you have his medical information?" The doctor asks, holding up a clipboard.

John nods. "His name is Phillip Hamilton, he's seventeen years old, five foot eight, weighs a hundred a forty pounds I think. He slit his wrists, and at home, it looked like he lost about three liters of blood before I bandaged him up. He took opioids, and more, he said he took something more, but we don't know what."

"Okay, if you can get that information, we could really use it. Do you know someone who you could call or-"

I cut the doctor off. "Yes. We were gonna call him as soon as we got here."

"Alright," says the doctor as the nurses push the gurney through two doors. "You two can't go past here. Please get a hold of your friend to find out what he took, it would really help. We'll do everything we can."

I nod shakily, then watch as he disappears. "I'll call Phillip's friend."

"I'm gonna call the Jeffersons, ask them to get over here since Peter saw Phillip last," John says.

I sigh, unlocking Phillip's phone and searching up 'El' in his contacts, rejoicing when I find it. "I'm gonna call Eliza, tell her what's going on, and we should probably call the Burrs, and Lafayettes, make sure they're in the loop too."

"Yeah, I got the Burrs and Lafayettes, and I'll get the Jeffersons over here too, you just call Phillip's friend," John states.

I press the call button and put the phone to my ear. It rings two times, and then I hear the familiar click of our lines connecting. "Hello, is this El? Phillip's friend?"

"Yeah," a tired voice says on the other end. "Yeah, it is, who are you? Why do you have Phillip's phone?"

"My name is Alexander Hamilton," I start. "I'm Phillip's father. Phillip is in the hospital right now and I-"

"Which hospital?" El asks quickly.

"Medrite Urgent Care, on the corner of ninth and forty-second street," I say.

"I'll be there in five," he says, then hangs up.

I look to John. "Well, he's just coming here. Maybe that'll be better since we'll get a full story about what is going on or some of a full story."

John nods. "Call Liza and Mars, they're probably really worried."

I slip Phillip's phone in my pocket and pull out mine, dialing up Eliza's number and then pressing the phone to my ear as John talks to someone else. I wait for a few rings, then hear the click of our lines being connected.

"Alex, Alex, is Phillip okay?" Eliza says before I can even get a word out.

"Eliza, oh my God, he's..." I trail off, trying to slow down my breathing. It takes a second to realize where I am. I'm in a hospital, and in the room right across from me, my son is lying on a hospital bed, getting frantically treated by medical professionals.

"Alex, is he okay?" Eliza asks.

A sob breaks through my chest and my knees almost give out. "Eliza he tried to kill himself. We, we're at the hospital right now, and he's getting his stomach pumped or something, I don't know, we just got here."

"What hospital?" Eliza asks, her voice low.

"Medrite Urgent Care," I mumble slowly.

"Be there in two hours tops," Eliza says quickly, hanging up.

I turn to John, who is still talking to people on the phone. I stand there for a few moments, watching him as he talks to Lafayette. I can tell it's Lafayette because his voice is so loud I can hear it. John hangs up, setting his phone down and putting his face in his hands, obviously taking deep breaths. I gently sit down on the floor in front of him, reaching up and taking his hand. What shocks me is when he quickly pulls it away, looking me in with almost hatred in his eyes. His shoulders are tense and almost looks angry for a second.

"I'm sorry," John mumbles, untensing and clasping his hands together.

"Johnathan," I mumble lightly, looking up at him. "Look at where we are. Look at where we started. I know I don't deserve you, John. But hear me out, that would be enough."

John nods, swallowing hard.

"If I could take away all his pain, all his hurt and put it onto me, then he'd be standing with you right now, and you would smile, and that would be enough. I, I don't pretend to know the challenges we're going to face. I know there's not replacing what we've lost, and we all need to heal. But, but I'm not afraid. I know who I married. Just let me stay here by your side-" My voice breaks and tears begin rolling down my face. "-And that would be enough."

"Alexander," John whispers, gently taking my hand.

I rest my head down in his lap and begin sobbing, still gripping his hand. John places his other hand in my hair, obviously crying too. I just want to hold onto him right now. It feels like my world has been turned upside down, like my heart has just been ripped from my chest. I can't believe Phillip tried to... I should've done something more. I should've been there for him more. I should've talked to him, spent more time with him, something.

"I'm so sorry, John," I cry out.

"This isn't your fault," John whispers, curling a bit of my hair in his fingers. "This isn't your fault. Alex, it's gonna be okay. It's okay. Phillip is going to be okay. We got to him in time. We stopped the bleeding, and now the doctors are working on him. He's gonna be okay. He's going to wake up and we're going to get him the help he needs. Everything is going to be okay."

I look up at him, gripping both his hands in mine. "What if it's not though? What if he's not okay and the doctors can't save him and-"

"Hey," John says sternly, cutting me off. "Don't talk like that. Phillip is going to be  _fine._ Remember when I was shot? I was just fine. Remember when you blew out your knee and basically destroyed it? You were just fine, and you are still walking. Us Hamilton's, we have enough dumb luck to get us through anything. There's no way we're losing Phillip, because the world has tried to kill us off a thousand times and we always make it through. We are family, Alex, and we're going to be just fine. Everything is going to be okay. So what are we going to do  _when_ Phillip wakes up?"

I sniffle, knowing John is trying to get me to manifest this. "We, we need to send him to a psych hospital or something. John, he tried to kill himself, he needs serious therapy. He needs help, help that neither of us can provide."

John nods. "We can get in touch with Eliza, ask her where she thinks it would be best."

I chuckle, wiping a few tears from my cheeks. "She'll be here in less than two hours, so how about we just ask her in person."

John presses his forehead to mine. "Oh my God, all of our friends are going to be here. I called Laf, Aaron, Thomas, they all didn't even let me finish, they just asked which hospital we were at and said they'd be here soon."

I groan. "This is going to be such a fucking mess."

"Alexander?" I hear a voice say.

I look up and see a tall guy, looking like he's in his mid-twenties, standing there. He has light skin, as if he's mixed, with cornrowed hair. He looks worried, just wearing some jeans, a big army coat, and some old work boots. He has a black eye, and his knuckles look bruised and freshly scraped up.

"El?" I say softly.

He nods. "How's Phillip, is he okay?"

I shrug, standing up and approaching him, trying to look intimidating, though that's hard. "We just got here. Do you know what he took?"

El gives me a confused look. "I didn't even know he took anything."

I suck in a sharp breath. "He said he got it from you. Did he not?"

El pauses, then I watch the blood drain from his face. He jaw goes slack and he quickly opens his jacket, sticking his hand in a pocket and pulling out an empty prescription bottle. He closes his eyes, letting out a small string of profanities under his breath.

"What? What did he take?" I ask.

El, sighing, opens the bottle and pulls out a folded piece of paper that was pressed up against the sides. He hands it to me. "This is the list of what he took, and the exact amount of it. I'm so sorry. I didn't, I didn't know he took this. It was in my jacket, and I got up to take a piss, and he must've taken it when I was gone. Fuck, I'm so sorry."

"I'll give this to the doctor," John says, taking the paper from my hand and walking to the hospital room.

"Hey, how do you know my son?" I ask slowly, looking over this guy. He's definitely way over eighteen and I don't know just how much I like the idea of my son hanging out with actual adults who have bottles of drugs on them casually.

El seems to realize what I'm getting at. "Oh, no, Phillip and I, we uh, we're just friends. Uh, no, I met him at D & D Salvage. He was hanging with another guy, who was actually really sketchy and just, he was bad. He was really bad. Anyway, I kinda got Phillip away from him, and Phillip would just come around and hang out. He and I never, we never, I, we didn't, you know, we never, like, God, I'm sorry. I, I watched over Phillip, made sure he got home with a friend or something. I drove him home once. No, I just made sure he stayed safe. I didn't want him getting hurt."

"Well great fucking job you did this time," I snap.

El looks taken aback by my tone. "I didn't even know he was there. I didn't know he was gonna, I just, what happened?"

John, who had given the doctor the list, came and stood next to me, taking my hand. "We came home and Phillip was overdosing and bleeding out in our bathroom. Did you know that he was feeling like this?"

El shakes his head, sighing. "I know, I know some real bad shit happened tonight, but I didn't think he'd... I just, I'm sorry, I should've noticed something. I've had friends who killed themselves, I should've noticed."

"No, it's not your fault. You said something bad happened to him, what do you mean?" John asks, his temper not even spiking a little bit.

"The kid was high off his ass, wandering around the salvage when I saw him, got him to call his boyfriend. No, uh, he said he passed out and woke up in the back of a truck with nothing on, but really didn't know what happened. Then, then he said some guy, the guy who was really sketchy who I got him away from, that guy got him alone and forced himself onto Phillip. The kid looked really shaken up, that's why I got him to call someone. Get home." El rubs the back of his neck, swallowing hard.

"Who was the guy you got him away from?" I ask.

"George Eaker. Lives in apartment building 4J in the east village. He's white, a bit taller than me, blonde hair, tattoos on his hands. He has a broken nose right now, or it was broken when I last saw him," El mumbles.

"When did you last see him?" I continue.

"Uh, maybe an hour ago? After Phillip left, I beat the shit out of him, left him in the salvage, so he might still be there, I don't know. He's got a kid under his care, but that whole situation has been sketchy," El explains.

"Alex!" I hear a voice call. "John! Is there any news, is he okay?"

I look over to see Aaron, Dosia, and Theo running towards us, looking scared out of their minds. I instantly feel Aaron almost body slam me, taking me up in a hug. I hug back tightly, for once, not minding the smell of his flowery perfume that he swears he buys in the men's section. It's not that guys can't wear perfume, it's just that his is so overly fruity, and it annoys me.

"Fuck, Aaron, I don't know, we haven't heard anything," I mumble. "We know as much as you do. I'm fucking terrified."

Aaron let's go of me, holding me at arm's length. "Alex, are you okay? What happened? When did you get here?"

I begin to panic, not knowing what to stay, but thankfully, John swoops in, hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest. "We found him in our bathroom about half an hour ago. He had slit his wrists and was overdosing. I bandaged his arms and then we drove to the hospital. We haven't heard anything yet, but his heart was still beating when we got here."

"He has to be okay, he has to be okay," Theo repeats. "He's my best friend, I can't lose him. I can't lose him. Phillip is going to be okay, right mom? Right? He has to be okay. He's going to be okay. I can't, I can't lose him. He's my best friend and I-"

John cuts her off by gently hugging her. "Hey, he's going to be just fine. Doctors are working on him right now. He's going to be just fine. Don't worry. He's going to wake up and once again be exasperated by your dad jokes. Don't worry, he's going to be just fine."

Theo breaks into a sob. "He's my best friend."

"Alex, are you okay?" Dosia asks, gently taking my hand.

I shake my head. "I just, I can't believe he, I..." I tilt my head down, letting tears slide down my cheeks. "Dosia, he's my only son. He's my pride and fucking joy. He's my whole world, and I love him more than anything. I can't lose him." I pause, thinking. "Phillip's never hurt a soul." I break into sobs, my chest feeling as if it's caving in on itself. "He must've been so scared."

"Hey, Alexander, you won't lose him. He's going to be just fine. Listen to John. John knows what he's talking about. He's going to be just fine," Dosia mumbles, gently hugging me. "You're going to be just fine. Phillip is going to wake up, and he's gonna know that he has all this family who is here for him, loving and supporting him."

I sigh, wiping my eyes. "It hurts so bad to know that that's what he did to himself. Why couldn't I be there for him? Why couldn't he talk to me?"

"Hey, no, you can't blame yourself for this," Dosia says sweetly. "Phillip was obviously very depressed and feeling very alone. He wasn't in his right mind, and it's not your fault for what happened. Phillip was in a very dark place, but he's gonna be okay and we're gonna get him the help he needs, alright?"

I nod. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just, it hurts. It hurts a lot."

"Hey," John says softly, approaching with his arm around Theo. "It's gonna be alright."

"I just, I'm so worried," I mumble, taking his hand.

He pulls me closer, letting Theo go to the embrace of her mother. "I am too. I'm scared. I'm so scared, I feel like I'm gonna vomit." John smiles a bit, bringing a small smile from me too. "But it's gonna be okay. He's gonna wake up and we're gonna talk to him, and everything is gonna gets all sorted out." He gently takes my face in his hands. "I'm gonna be with you, and we're gonna be with him, every step of the way."

I sniffle and nod, leaning against him. "I know, I know, I just, I'm sorry. I'm just scared."

"Hey," John whispers, gently taking me into his arms. "He's gonna be okay. He's gonna be just fine. He's got everyone rooting for him, and no one rooting against him. There's no way he's gonna lose. He's gonna be okay."

"Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?" We hear a frantic voice yell.

John and I break away and see the Jefferson's walking quickly towards us, Peter looking distraught and panicking. Thomas looks terrified and James has a face of stone. Thomas immediately grabs my shoulders and looks me dead in the eye, searching for answers.

"We don't know what's going on," John explains. "He's in the hospital room, and doctors are working on him as we speak. That's literally all we know. Please, Thomas, take a deep breath. His heart was beating when he came in, and we stopped the bleeding. Anything past that is out of our knowledge."

"Peter, dear, did you notice anything off about him when you dropped him off?" I ask, gently placing my hand on the boy's shoulder. He's way taller than me already.

Peter shrugs. "I don't know, I was really tired, but I asked him if he wanted me to come inside with him and he said no, and then he asked me to go home and sleep, and take care of myself, and make sure Theo took care of herself, and then he said goodbye and went inside. I didn't, I asked him if he was going to do anything and he said no. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Alex!" I hear a familiar French accent say.

I look over to see Lafayette, Herc, and Georges coming closer.

"Alex, I'll talk to them, you talk to Peter," John states.

I nod and look back to Peter. "Okay, hey, it's okay. This wasn't your fault. Right now, we're just trying to figure out what's going on, get our bearings. You told us everything you know, and that's just enough. It's okay. You did everything just right."

"Is Phillip okay?' Georges asks.

"Oh, so now you fucking care if he's okay or not," Theo snaps, her voice filled with anger.

I look up, seeing Theo right up in Georges' face. Lafayette steps back, his eyes wide while Aaron looks to Dosia, worry laced through his eyes.

"When have I not?" Georges says, stepping closer to her.

"Asshole! Are you serious? Literally just yesterday you were calling him a whore in front of the entire fucking school!" Theo growls.

"You don't know the full story," Georges starts.

Theo actually laughs in his face. "I don't give a fucking  _damn_ what the whole story is! You had no right to do that! I don't care if you saved his fucking life, he doesn't owe you shit! He certainly doesn't owe you a relationship! You had no right saying those things!"

"Oh please," Georges scoffs. "Some of them were true, and you know it."

Theo rolls her eyes, clenching her jaw. "Oh, really? What was true? Do you really think he's a bitch? Do you really think he's just like his dad and is gonna cheat on everyone he gets with? Do you really think he's a whore?"

"Oof," I mutter, thinking about that part in the video when he said he was just like me.

"Shut up, Theo," Georges snaps.

"Truthfully, I think Phillip was the one who knew what he was talking about!" Theo continues. "He said you were a piece of shit, a coward, a judgey asshole, and that's honestly what I believe! How many times do I have to yell at you to get you to  _leave him alone_? He's been trying his fucking best for a while now and all you do is make him feel like shit! I don't give a fucking shit if you 'loved him' or wanted to be with him, you had no right to say any of the shit you did say to him! Do you know how many times Phillip has come to me crying because of you? You're fucking mean to him! He forgives you every damn time though, because he really considers you his best friend! If I was Phillip, you wouldn't even be in my life. You really need to check your fucking privilege! He literally owes you nothing!"

"I never said he owes me anything!" Georges states.

Theo roughly pushes his chest. "You didn't fucking need to! You made it pretty clear yesterday when you just expected him to feel the same about you! You're such an entitled piece of shit! No, you don't deserve Phillip, because Phillip is fucking sane enough to know how to take rejection, and you just yell at him in front of the whole school!"

"Okay, hey, guys," Peter starts, coming over and obviously trying to diffuse the situation.

"Oh fuck you, Peter," Georges snaps. "We all know the real reason you got with Phillip. Don't even try to play that bullshit mediator."

Peter stops, biting his lip. "Look, we're all hurt and scared, and I really don't think we should be arguing right now. Phillip needs positive energy sent to him, and fighting isn't helping anything at all, so just take a deep breath."

"No, this fucking prick deserves it!" Theo yells, pushing Georges.

"Twenty bucks says Theo wins in hand to hand with Georges," Thomas whispers quietly, leaning over to me a bit and nudging my arm.

I nod, agreeing.

"Oh, I deserve it? What about the guy who left Phillip to go slit his wrists?" Georges snaps, gesturing to Peter.

"Hey!" I yell. "Knock that bullshit off, no one here is to blame, and certainly not Peter."

"I didn't..." Peter trails off, biting his thumbnail. "I didn't know! I didn't know, and he asked to be alone and I thought he just needed space and I just didn't want to bother him or make things worse or-"

"Well obviously you did," Georges snaps.

"Georges Washington de Lafayette!" Hercules yells. "Enough. Come here. Theo, you go pace or something, Peter, you go sit over there. Thomas, James, you sit with Peter, Aaron, Dosia, you make sure Theo doesn't kill anyone, Lafayette, you and I are gonna talk to Georges. Everyone take a deep fuckin breath. And Thomas, do not bet on which kid would win in hand to hand combat. Theo  _would_ win, but that's beside the point." Herc turns to John and I. "I'm very sorry a high-stress situation got more high stress, do you guys need anything?"

"Coffee," I mutter.

"Okay, Alex and I are going to get coffee. Anyone else needs anything?" John says, looking over everyone. People are just quiet, so John clasps his hands. "Alright, Alex, let's go get some fucking coffee."

I take his hand and we walk down the hall, looking for the cafeteria. We find it quickly, and I find the biggest paper cup I can and fill it to the brim with black medium roast coffee. John fills a medium sized cup with half soy milk and half dark roast coffee. He then grabs an apple and a cheese stick. He places the cheese stick in my hand and we go and pay for food, then make our way back to the hallway. Everyone is quiet, sitting there and waiting. John sits on a chair next to the Jeffersons, who are on the floor. I sit on the floor leaning against John's legs, letting him fuss with my hair as we listen to the occasional squeak of shoes on the tile flooring. Theo is pacing angrily, her shoes off which is probably good, since her socked feet look like they're making heavy steps. She looks pissed, muttering a string of curses under her breath. El is just sitting on a chair, his head down and his eyes closed. Everyone here is so angry and hurt and confused, and I really just want my son to wake up.

"I have a voicemail from Phillip, from about an hour ago," Peter says softly.

I move closer to him, John getting off the chair and kneeling next to me. Theo comes over as well, and all of us are obviously very interested in what it says. He left is after Peter dropped him off, before John and I got there. Peter sighs and types in his voicemail password, then plays the voicemail.

"Hey, Peter," he starts, obviously crying or about to cry. "Uh, I just got your text and I felt like I should call you. You're probably sleeping though, so don't feel bad. Uh, no, I would learn Korean. That sounds good. Maybe that's what we can put on our college applications. 'Member of an ethnic kick ass couple who traveled around Asia.' I'm sure that would be an eye-catcher." He sounds like he was going to laugh, though it came out as a small sob. "Uh, I really just wanted to say thanks for picking me up. You didn't have to do that, but you did, so thank you. And, uh..." There's a silence for a second, only static being played to us. "I love you. I really do. I know we've had one too many confessions in the past twenty-four hours, but I love you. So, yeah. Anyway, I should probably go. So, uh, bye."

The voicemail ends and a sob comes from Peter. Tears roll down his face as he drops his phone, leaning against James and sobbing. My heart breaks for the millionth time tonight as I watch Peter hold on to James' sweater, shaking. Thomas leans over and gently rubs Peter's back. Peter is shaking at this point, his hands barely gripping onto the soft fabric of James' hoodie and his face hidden from the rest of us.

"He's having a panic attack," James mumbles, hugging Peter closer.

"Is he going to be okay?" I ask softly.

Thomas looks up to me, his face neutral. "This family has never done well in hospitals. Especially not urgent care centers. We just, we've been here too many times."

I swallow hard. "I should probably call Phillip's mom, as well as Washington and Angie."

John nods. "I'll call Angie, you call Pegs."

"Wait, Peggy is Phillip's mom?" Theo says.

"Keep quiet, we wanna tell him ourselves," I mumble, pulling my phone out of my pocket. I dial up Peggy's number, remembering that she's in Amsterdam right now, so I have to do her Amsterdam area code. It takes a while for us to connect, but we do.

"Hey, Lexi, isn't it like, five am back in New York? Wait, you get up at five am, nevermind. What's up?" Peggy says, obviously feeling very chipper.

"Hey, dearest, uh, you think you can get on a plane over to New York?" I ask.

"Uh, well, I'm in an airport right now, so probably, but why?" She asks, quietly thanking someone and telling them to keep the change in French.

"Phillip is in the hospital," I say slowly. "He tried to kill himself."

SIlence comes from the other line. I can hear people in the background, talking, but nothing from Peggy, who has never had a problem talking just as much as I do.

"Peggy, are you still there?" I say slowly.

"You're fucking with me," she mumbles. "No, Alex, I just saw him at Christmas, and he was happy, and he was doing great. He looked good. Skinny, but really good. He was so happy. He didn't, he couldn't, are you serious?"

"I wish I wasn't," I mumble.

"Okay, I'll get on a nonstop flight. I should be there by mid-afternoon or early evening, late evening at most. I think there was a flight for New York leaving at ten forty-five, so I got forty-five minutes to get to it. Uh, please, just, uh, just keep me updated. I'll be there soon. I love you, Alex, bye." She hangs up before I can even say goodbye.

"Yes, sir, I'll see you soon," John mumbles, hanging up. He looks to me, sighing. "Alright, I think we officially called everyone we've known since college, plus that guy."

"Who is that guy?" Lafayette asks, looking to El.

El waves a bit to everyone. "Hey, I'm El. I'm Phillip's friend. I've talked to both Georges and Peter, but it's real nice to see that Phillip has like, twenty people who will drop everything and come to the hospital for him. Y'all seem real nice."

"You look like you're twenty-seven!" Herc exclaims. "What are you doing hanging around a  _minor_?"

El shrugs. "He would come around to the sketchy junkyard where I lived for a while, so whenever I was there, and he was there, I would make sure he stayed as safe as he could. Obviously, I sucked at my job, but I tried. He was just a kid, I didn't want him getting hurt. And I'm twenty-five."

"Well, I'm glad we could have a big old reunion in the hallway at urgent care," John mumbles, sipping his coffee. "Alex, dear, are you holding up?"

I nod, groaning as I sit down in front of him. "Yeah, I am. Are you?"

"Yeah, I'm holding up," John answers.

I sigh, carefully taking his hands in mine. "I'm literally never going to be able to go into that bathroom ever again."

John pauses, thinking, then looks at me. "Let's just gut it. Remodel it. Change it up. A friend of mine who used to work with me had a kid try to do something like this in their bathroom, and they literally gutted it, change it, redid the whole thing. He said it was really helpful, told me that he didn't get any flashbacks to finding his kid in there when he went in."

I chuckle. "Well, we already need a new door."

"Okay, you would've kicked it down too if you didn't weight two pounds while soaking wet," John points out, gently pressing his lips to my fingers.

I groan. "Yeah, yeah." I pause a second, looking at him, then I sigh. "Have you ever done that before? Talked someone through a suicide attempt? You seemed really, I dunno, really good at that. Like, extremely good at that."

"Can I be honest?" John mumbles.

I nod.

"After I graduated, college, and you were still in it, shit kinda got bad for you. You started relapsing a lot more, and shit just got kinda bad. You were really depressed, and I just, I didn't really know what was going through your head, so I called Eliza and I asked her what to do if I ever walked into our apartment to find you bleeding out or overdosing. She explained it to me, how to talk, what to do, how to handle it. I've just, I've always been prepared to do that," John explains. "It's not like I thought you were going to do this, or he was going to do this. I really, I just, I wanted to be prepared for anything. I hate that it came in handy, but I'm really glad I knew what to do."

"You thought I was gonna..." I trail off.

John looks at me, biting his lip. "I didn't know. That's why I asked Eliza what to do if you did, because I had no idea what to expect. It's why I always called you when you got home and I was at work. I just wanted to remind you not to do anything. Alex I, I'm just so fucking scared because I don't know what's going on, and I don't know if Phillip is awake or if he's flatlining and I just want to see him and no one is telling us anything." Tears begin to rolls down John's cheeks. "Alex, we just got our family put back together and now we might lose Phillip and I don't know if I can do that. I don't know if I can manage that without turning to a bottle of Jack Daniels and just saying fuck it. I threw away fifteen years of sobriety and relapsed and I don't want to do that again, and I just, I'm so fucking terrified we're gonna lose him and I don't want to lose him. I love him, Alex, he's my fucking son."

"Hey, no, shh," I whisper, gently wiping his tears. "He's gonna be okay."

I have this theory about couples. Neither of them freaks out at the same time. If I'm freaking out, John instantly goes into support mode and talks sweet to me, calming me down and helping me breath and work through something. If I'm managing and John starts freaking out, then I become that person. I become the person who is helping him calm down, breath, telling him that everything is going to be okay. I've noticed this in other people too. Lafayette and Herc, Thomas and James, Aaron and Dosia. It's like, if we see the person we love freaking out, we instantly give into these almost parent-like instincts and comfort them until they feel better.

"I'm just so scared," John mumbles, shaking as his tight grips my hand.

"Hey," I say sweetly. "Remember when we first got Phillip? Remember the first night we had him? He was only a few days old, and since Peggy was staying at her sister's since she hadn't slept in three weeks because not only was he a week late, but he was way big and bothering her. Anyway, remember how every hour he would cry and we went in shifts, trying to get him to sleep? Remember how we had to call up Dosia and Aaron to get them to help us feed Phillip because we had no idea what we were doing?"

John lets out a bitter chuckle through his tears. " _You_ had no idea what we were doing."

I smile, kissing his knuckles. "Man, I really should've gotten better with kids before Phillip was born. Like, I knew the logistics, and I knew the math behind it, but I didn't get the whole, like parenting lovey-dovey emotions at first."

"No, you sucked at that," John laughs. "I remembering walking into the living room and Phillip was crying and you looked at him and said 'speak English, or French, or Spanish, I don't really care, just tell me what you want.' I think Phillip was two months old at this age and you wanted him to speak one of three languages."

I roll my eyes. "Well, I obviously got better at it."

John nods. "I have a picture of you with like, seven-month-old Phillip, both of you asleep on the couch with him on your chest. My God, and you remember all that hair he had? It just kept growing and growing. We had to learn how to cut hair ourselves."

I smile softly. "And then when you brought him to my work when he was just learning to walk and we were talking in the break room and he ran away and we didn't notice for like, ten minutes and then suddenly we're hearing a voice of the building intercom that says 'there is a baby on the seventeen floor. I repeat, there is a baby, on the seventeenth floor.' Oh my God, we had never moved so quickly to the fucking accounting floor."

"You refused to put a leash on him, even after we almost lost him in time square," John scoffs. "He was very happy to run around."

I roll my eyes. "You remember how much shit I got for the fucking baby Bjorn I would always carry Phillip around in?"

"I thought you looked cute," John mumbles.

I roll my eyes. "I had to pick him up during a court recess from Angelica's and then I was working this political sex scandal with this happy little baby bouncing around in his little baby Bjorn on my chest. They had to swear him in, and I'm so glad we have pictures of that."

"Pictures? I have fucking video from Lafayette of you pointing at the person on the stand and yelling 'shame' while Phillip tugged on your hair and laughed," John chuckles.

"Shortly afterward, I cut it," I mumble, smiling.

John sighs, pressing his forehead to mine. "He's gonna be alright, yeah?"

"Of course," I assure him. "There's no way he can't be."

"How is he?" We hear Washington's stern voice say as he walks down the hallway towards us. "Have you heard anything?"

I shake my head, gripping John's hand tighter. "Doctors are with him right now, we haven't gotten any news though. We're all just kinda... waiting."

Washington sighs, grunting as he sits down on the floor next to me. "Fuck, I'm getting too old for you kids to be ending up in the hospital. How are you two doing?"

John groans. "We're just waiting for any news, trying to keep things light. The best thing we can do for him right now is to stay positive."

Washington nods, placing his hand on my shoulder. "He's gonna be okay. He's a Hamilton, god knows you Hamilton's are like cockroaches. If you wanna kill a Hamilton, you have to physically separate the head from the body and then keep it separated."

John smiles. "We were just talking about Alex in a courtroom with baby Phillip on his chest as he worked to defend a politician in a sex scandal. Do you remember that?"

"I'm not that old," Washington laughs. "Alex wasn't technically breaking any rules, but boy, we got some attention for that. A lot of old white men saying I should fire him because he was exposing his child to someone like a sex scandal. I just said that if the Catholic church can stay in business after all they did, then Alex is allowed to watch his son and work a case."

"You think we could like, knock on the doors?" I mumble, looking over. "Try and get an update? I mean, maybe we can like, just ask. It wouldn't hurt."

John nods and the two of us get up, going to the door and gently knocking, John's arm tight around me. I bite my lip, waiting a few seconds before a nurse comes out. She has a mask over her face and gloves over her hands, covered in blood. I swallow hard and for a moment can't speak. Thankfully, John can.

"Our son," he says quietly.

The nurse takes a deep breath. "He's not yet stable, but he's not on the brink. He started hemorrhaging when we took off the bandages and we had to give him two liters of blood. If you hadn't bandaged him up before he came, he wouldn't have made it here. He had over four hundred milligrams of heroin in his system, so it was a miracle his heart was still beating. We've pumped his stomach, given him charcoal pills and Narcan, and are currently working on stitching up his arms and stopping the bleeding. The lacerations go down to almost his bone, and he may have permanent tendon damage."

"So, he's going to be okay?" I ask slowly.

She sighs. "We're not going to promise anything, because his bleeding still hasn't stopped. Do you know his blood type? We've been using O- for him, but it would be really helpful to know if he's something else since O- is important to the urgent care."

"He's got B- blood," John answers. "Please, take care of him."

The nurse gives us a sympathetic look. "I'll start updating you whenever I can."

I sigh shakily as she closes the door again and looks to John. "You fucking, you saved his life. Jesus, I would've just taken him and he would've bled out but you knew to stop the bleeding and if we had just listened to me, he could be dead and oh my God." I break into tears. "He's alive, he's alive."

"Hey, shh," John whispers, pulling me into his arms. "He's gonna be okay."

"John, what does hemorrhaging mean?" I ask quietly.

"It just means he was bleeding a lot, but they're giving him more blood, and he's gonna be okay," John tells me, gently holding my face in his hands. "And holy shit, I didn't know he could survive losing three pints of blood and fucking, fucking four hundred milligrams of heroin? Jesus Christ, there was only like, fifty in the rest of your prescription." John turns to El. "Hey, how much heroin was in that bottle?"

"A hundred fifty milligrams, why?" El mumbles.

"Alright, so our son got two hundred milligrams of heroin from somewhere," John mutters. "We gotta, we're gonna have to detox him. Send him to rehab, something."

"Is he okay?" Lafayette asks, making us realize that they probably couldn't hear what the nurse was saying.

"They pumped his stomach, they're stitching up his wrists. He's not yet stable, and they're not promising anything, but as long as nothing else too serious happens, it looks like he's gonna pull through," John says.

I've never heard eleven people collectively let out a breath, but I did just now, and whoa, it's wild. Peter starts crying again, Theo stops pacing and covers her face with her hands, her shoulders beginning to shake, Georges closes his eyes and leans back, biting his lip. Everyone just looks relieved. Even Washington seems like he's holding back tears as he runs his hand over his head. John pulls me into another hug, gripping my hair in his hand and resting his forehead against my shoulder.

"Okay, we're okay," John mumbles, letting me go and sitting back down in his chair.

"Wowie, a lot of anxiety just left my body but there's still a lot in it," I say, shaking my hands out. "Hey, Thomas, you wanna uh, maybe, uh..."

"Yes, actually, I do," Thomas mutters, kissing Peter on the head and standing up, popping his back and beginning to walk down the hall.

"John, Thomas and I are gonna-"

John cuts off any bullshit excuse I could give. "Go. I'll call you if I get any news."

I catch up with Thomas and look at him, my hands shaking a bit. "Do you have any on you? Do you still carry them around?"

Thomas shakes his head. "There's a liquor store across the street. Twenty four seven. I always check for them, no matter where I go."

I let out a bitter chuckle as we walk out of the hospital, a tall brick building on the corner. Thomas and I cross the street and push open the door of the liquor shop. It smells like cigar smoke and liquor. Thomas and I walk through the store to the front counter, Thomas pulling out his wallet. I sigh and lean against him for support as he waits for the shopkeep to bustle over. Thomas grabs a lighter and places it on the counter, then smiles to the older man.

"Hey, can I get a pack of Marlboro Reds?" Thomas asks, placing his ID on the counter.

The man nods, putting a pack on the counter after scanning it, then scans the lighter before telling Thomas to swipe his card. Thomas does so, and then we walk out of the shop and over to the hospital, then down the street a bit to lean against the brick wall. Thomas opens up the pack and hands me one, then sticks one in his mouth. He lights it up and then hands the lighter to me. I hold the lighter to the cigarette and light it up, inhaling heavily and letting the tobacco smoke and nicotine fill my chest.

"Fuck, it's been a few years," I mumble, coughing a bit and taking the cigarette from my mouth. "I forgot how to smoke."

"Oh man, I go through about a pack a month," Thomas laughs. "I mean, I used to go through a pack a day so at least I'm not actively killing myself. James doesn't like it, so we just never acknowledge it. John seemed pretty nonchalant about it."

I shrug. "He's gonna give me a lecture about how it's bad for me in the next two days, but that's okay. Heh, we promised to quit if we had kids."

"I don't smoke around Peter, I don't smoke in the house, I don't smoke around the house. I spend our lunch break behind the building every few days, smoking one or two cigarettes, then I come back inside. James constantly makes me get doctors appointments, but I hate going. I've had enough hospitals in my life."

I nod. "I feel that. Hey, your son is dating my son."

Thomas tilts his head back. "Who would've fucking thought? A Hamilfuck and a Jeffershit, doing their thing. Remember how mean we were to each other at the beginning of college? Now our kids are dating."

I roll my eyes. "I got too tired to be mean to you towards the end of the semester."

Thomas sighs. "Hey, you know I care about you, right dude?"

"Yeah, I do," I mumble, taking another hit off my cigarette.

"Good, good," Thomas mutters. A few minutes of silence pass us, then Thomas let's out a chuckle. "I can't believe it was Lafayette's kid who picked a fight with yours. Like, you argued with me for two months straight, and we continued arguing all through college and for a while after we started working together, and yet the kid from the guy you consider your brother is the one who picks a fight with Phillip. I'm sorry, but that is just so ironic to me."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, ironic. No, you saw the video. I mean, I've seen guys take rejection badly, but Georges brought up some fucked up shit. I feel bad for being mad at the kid, but like, I dunno, you heard what he said. You heard what he said to Peter, Phillip. I just think, I dunno. He's only seventeen, and lord knows we were all emotional messes at that age."

Thomas blows out smoke from his cigarette. "No, no I'm mad at him too. I really don't think he needs to be chewed out by us though. Lafayette looks like he's waiting to get Georges alone so he can talk to him."

I crease my brows. "Good. I mean, the kid didn't have the right to say that shit about Phillip or about me, and he was mean to Peter and Theo."

Thomas groans. "You know, we never had this much drama when we were young like them. We just smoked weed and chilled the fuck out."

"You think our kids don't smoke as much weed as us?" I laugh. "Come on, Thomas, Phillip has been smoking since he was fifteen, and so has Peter. You know, I once caught the two of them smoking up in Phillip's room when they were like, fifteen. Phillip had a mouthful of smoke and Peter was stoned off his ass and they totally knew that I knew, but I didn't say shit. I ain't no snitch."

"Oh, Peter smokes so much weed," Thomas chuckles. "He, like, smokes down daily. The kid has his own pipe and everything. He also knows how to pass a drug test so he can play sports. We go through gallons of cranberry concentrate a month."

"God," I mutter. "When did our kids become so much like us?"

"When we raised them the way we did," Thomas jokes. "No, Alex, real shit though? Phillip is a really good kid. You raised him well. I'm glad that Peter is with him."

"Be real with me Thomas," I scoff. "You can't seriously be happy that your son is dating the kid who had four hundred milligrams of heroin in his system not too long ago."

Thomas looks at me, stomping out his cigarette and lighting up another one. "I know Phillip has gone through the unimaginable. I'm not going to suddenly stop supporting him because he broke last night. I love Phillip like he's my own, and if I could choose who Peter would spend the rest of his life with, I would pick Phillip, because I know how good he is."

I sigh, stomping out the charred filter in my fingers and grabbing another cigarette from the box. "I'm really glad he had you and your family when times were getting rough over the past months. I know he came over a lot, and I'm really thankful that you guys took him in. I just, God, I feel so bad. I feel like I should've done something more for him. I wish I could've like, I dunno, I should've known something was going on. I asked him and he said he was fine, but I knew he was lying. I should've taken him to therapy. I kept asking him if he wanted to go, and he kept saying he didn't want to go back. I just, God, I dunno."

"Hey, you did everything you could as a parent, and you still have a chance to help. Phillip is going to be just fine," Thomas mumbles, taking my hand in his. "He's gonna wake up and you're going to have your teary Instagram reunion, and then you're going to help him, put him into therapy or whatever."

"We're gonna send him to a psych hospital," I mumble. "I mean, we have to. The kid has heroin in his system, and he slit his wrists. He just, he needs help that John and I can't give him. We're gonna ask Eliza about it when she gets here, ask her where she thinks it would be best. I dunno, we don't really have another option."

Thomas sighs. "I'm really sorry this is going on, man."

I shrug. "It's going to get better. Things are going to get better. Phillip is going to be okay."

"Hamilton!" Yells a familiar voice. "Jefferson! What the hell?"

I look over, the cigarette hanging out of my mouth, seeing Angelica walk over to us in her business clothes, her heels clicking on the concrete. Her bun looks about as tight as her ass, and her face is contorted into a very Angelica esque look of concern and anger.

"Morning, Angie," I mumble, blowing out smoke as I do. "Phillip is getting stitched up. As long as nothing serious happens, he's fine. He's gonna live."

Angelica lets out a breath. "I'm guessing everyone else is up there?"

I nod. "Peggy is on a plane, Eliza and Maria are driving down, and yeah, everyone else is up in the hospital. John said he'd call me if he got any updates."

"So you're just, like, smoking a cigarette? Not upstairs with John?" Angelica asks, her tone changing to something judgey.

I roll my eyes. "Congrats, you got me, I'm the worst husband of the year. Luckily, I know John's okay, and I know that he's got people staying with him. You wanna put my cigarette out on my hand or would it give you more satisfaction watching me do it?"

"Please, you may staple your hand but you're not going to-"

I cut her off by taking the cigarette out of my mouth and pressing it the heel of my hand, putting it out and then dropping it on the ground. Pain courses up my arm but I ignore it, staring her down. There's a moment of silence, Jefferson awkwardly smoking in the background, and then I spit on the concrete, just missing her last season Prada heels.

"I was enjoying the only moment out of the past twelve hours that I've had to relax, but now something worse than the New York sewers has shown up, so I believe I'll go inside and wait for the other Schuyler sisters, the ones who don't make me vomit in my mouth," I say slowly, clenching my fist around the burn and brushing past her. I go inside, finding the hallway where everyone else is, and then sit down on the floor in front of John, leaning against his legs.

"Where's Thomas?" James asks slowly.

"He's fine," I mutter. "Just having a smoke. Angelica is here, so I put a cigarette out on my hand. That's why I'm back in here."

"You put a what out on your what?" John gasps.

I hold up my hand, showing him the red and white burn on the palm. "It's fine, just stings. It'll heal, so don't worry."

John groans, placing his hands in my hair. "Alex, you have to stop doing this. You can't just injure yourself whenever you don't want to do something. Come here, lemme see that."

I hold up my hand again and let him hold it, planting a gentle kiss on the burn. "Thank you, my dearest."

Suddenly, the nurse bursts out of the door, blood splattered across her uniform, bringing the attention of other nurses. "We need a surgeon in here and three liters of B neg! Stat!"

I stand up, feeling frantic. "Wait, what's wrong? What's going on?"

"He's bleeding out. We didn't close up a vein and he's losing blood inside of his body, we need to clear out his system or he could die," she says.

I look to John, my eyes full of tears. My heart is beating out of my chest and all the blood has been drained from my face. I feel sick, trying to manage what just happened. I don't like the fact that my son's blood was splattered all over her uniform. I don't like the fact that his blood is still staining my pants. John stares back at me, and for a moment, the only thing I can see is him, then I pass out.


	37. "Capitalize the G in God." shaGGy.

/Phillip/

"Huh," I mutter to myself, looking around the blinding white plane. "This is unexpected."

I'm wearing just a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, standing in what looks to be the middle of nowhere. My ears are ringing lightly, and oh boy does my chest hurt, but I have bigger fish to fry since I am somewhere I have literally never been with no marks on my arms, proving that I slit my wrists, which is a little weird to me.

"Phillip Hamilton?" Says a voice.

I whip around to see a woman, skinny, dressed in a floral dress. She looks similar to my dad, long nose, but not quite him. She has a kind aura and a sweet smile. She looks darker than my dad, with the same chocolate eyes.

"Who are you?" I ask slowly.

"I'm your grandma," she says sweetly. "On your dad's side, though. Won't you come with me? I can take you to a nice place to wait."

"This isn't one of those things where you're actually trying to kill me, right?" I say slowly, taking her hand and letter her lead me somewhere I don't know.

She laughs. "No, of course not. Do you know how you got here?"

"I don't even know where here is," I state plainly. "I mean, the last thing I remember was counting in French with my dad in the car, then I passed out and..." I take a deep breath. "Am I dead? Like, did I die?"

"Well, no," My grandma I think says. "See, you're in the in-between. You're not dead, but you may not live, so you come here and wait with me. Not everyone waits with me, people have different guardians, but I'm yours, so you wait with me."

"So, what's the deal?" I ask. "Do I have to play chess to decide whether I live or die? Am I like, supposed to bet against the devil or whatever?"

My grandma smiles. "No, no, of course not. You just, you wait with me. I don't have control on whether you live or die, but I find that people who relax have a much better chance of coming out alive."

"Am I the only Hamilton who's been with you?" I ask as I see a black spot begin to appear on the horizon.

She shakes her head. "No, no. When your pop was in college, he got shot. He hung out with me while he was in surgery. You know, you are taking this a lot better than he did. He was freaking out and you're really relaxed about this."

"I'm more stable than him when he was in college," I shrug.

My grandma gives me a look.

"Wow," I say, chuckling about. "I just realized I'm saying that as the kid who took a bunch of pills and slit his wrists in the bathtub. Nevermind, I am not more stable than my pop in college, I just have a really relaxed opinion about death, I guess."

"Why's that?" My grandma asks as the black spot gets closer, turning into a door shape.

I shrug. "Because I believe God has a plan for my life. I believe she's waiting for me on the other side, and she's going to take me when the time is right."

"Do you think the time is right?" My grandma asks, holding my hand a bit tighter.

I shake my head. "I sure hope not. I haven't learned Korean yet and I just got a boyfriend. Also, that would mean I'm taking two AP classes for nothing. So, I would hope this is not the end, but if it is, I guess I'll be waiting for my parents on the other side."

My grandmother sighs as we get closer to the door. "No parent should bury their child. Do you regret what you did?"

I nod. "I wish I wasn't in this situation, and I do feel awfully bad about making people worry, so I hope shit ends up okay. You know?"

She smiles at me peacefully. "Yes, I do know." We stand in front of the door and she opens it, ushering me inside. "This is your dad's childhood home."

I look around. We're in a kitchen. It's obviously older, little kitchen accessories looking worn down and ready to break. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the air as I gently drag my hand across the wall, looking at pictures of my grandma and someone who must be my dad. My grandma takes a loaf of bread out of the oven and I sit down. I flinch as a sharp pain shoots through my chest, but ignore it.

"You look so much like your pop," My grandma comments.

I smile. "Thank you. So, do you just spend your days here?"

My grandma nods. "Yes. I can leave the house, but that's the portal into my own personal heaven. If you left the house, you would die, so I wouldn't suggest it unless of course, you would like to die, but I think it would be best if you stayed here."

A chuckle escapes my chest. "Yeah, me too. So like, what's your deal? Are you like, a guardian angel or something like that?"

My grandma shrugs. "I just watch over you and your family, since you all are my family. I can't protect you guys or anything, but I can be in the loop about what's going on, though recently, I've found myself not wanting to check up on you guys as much."

I tilt my head back, smiling. "You and me both, sister. So, what was my dad like as a kid? I never really had anyone to tell me stories about him, and he can really only remember age ten at his youngest. Was I like him?"

My grandma scoffs, smiling and waving her hand. "You were so much like him. Always running around, wanting to go somewhere. Fearless. Quite a trouble maker as well. You know, he painted all over the walls in his room with washable paint, but he refused to let me wash it off, even as he got older."

"My dad was artistic?" I say, smiling.

My grandma puts on a thinking expression. "On occasion, I could get a mother's day card with some art, but he was always more of a writer. I remember, when the two of us were sick together, I would be sleeping, in and out of it most of the time, and he would be up, writing and writing and writing. I think he really thought he wasn't going to make it through, so he was trying to write down what he could. I got to read some of it, and even at such a young age, he was so eloquent. I mean, what ten year old knows the meaning of the word laudable? Anyway, you are much like him. You are very smart, too smart for your own good."

"Thank you," I say, listening to her go on.

"You know, you were the cutest little baby," she continues. "My son sometimes has trouble connecting to his emotions, and even though he didn't know how to handle you for a while, he still loved you very much. He always made sure you were asleep before he went to sleep. For a while, your crib was in his office so he could watch over you while he worked. Oh, and even when he was taking maternity leave, he still worked. He would be typing with one hand on his laptop while he kept one hand on your back to make sure you were still breathing. Him and his baby Bjorn too, he would walk around town doing whatever and you would just be the happiest little baby, bouncing around an tugging on his hair. You were so confused when he cut it off, you didn't even know who he was."

"I didn't?" I chuckle.

She shakes her head. "No, you did not. You just sort of stared at him until you realized he was your dad. You remember that roller thing you had that you sat in but could push around with your feet?"

I nod, knowing what she was talking about.

"Well, one time you rolled that thing to the steps, and you got so close to falling down the steps, and your pop scooped you up and saved you in the last second. He was having kittens over it, and you were just giggling and doing your little babble thing that all babies do." My grandma chuckles. "I'm real proud of how far my son has gotten in life. It's good to see that he can provide you with the life that I could never give to him."

"I think you gave him a great start, really taught him to become the person he is right now," I state. Pain flashes through my chest and I flinch. "Yikes, that hurts."

"Well, it's a good sign you're feeling pain," my grandma states. "That means you're probably going to live through this. Which I'm happy about. Would you like some bread and butter? It's all vegan, just how you like it."

I nod, smiling as she gets up, shuffling over to the kitchen and beginning to make me a plate with some fresh bread.

"You know, you have an uncle, your dad's brother," my grandma states, coming back over and setting the plate down. "His name is James Hamilton. Has your father ever talked much about him? Or no?"

I shrug. "I've heard an occasional footnote I guess, but nothing much. Is he still alive or has he, you know, passed on."

"Oh, no, he's still alive, on the coast of Rio right now, sipping rum with his third wife. He didn't do as well as your father, but he's happy," My grandma states.

"Does he miss my dad?" I ask.

She nods. "He does think about him often. You know, you really should convince your dad to go down there, search for him a bit. It would be nice to see Alexander getting reunited with some blood. It wouldn't be hard to identify him, he does look like your dad, just fatter and older." She chuckles. "He is very funny, and once he and Alex get together, there will be absolutely no doubt they are brothers."

"Why did he leave?" I ask.

"Oh, Alex and I both got sick, I told him to go, didn't want him getting caught up in whatever illness me and your dad were infected with. I bought him a ticket to South America, Ecuador, and then gave him as much money as I could," she tells me. "He called for a little while, and then we lost contact. He has the best pictures of him and your dad, so cute."

I smile. "So, were you happy that my dad married a man? My pop's dad wasn't very happy at all, didn't even show up to the wedding I heard."

My grandma nods. "I've had a fair share of bad run-ins with men, but John Laurens was perfect for my son. I was happy for him, and I still am."

I smile, then feel something odd on my wrist. I look down to see a bruise forming in a long line down the middle. It's reddish-purple, dark, and almost itching. I stare at it for a second more before my head begins spinning. I groan, leaning back in my chair and placing my hand to my head. My body feels like it's spinning.

"Hey, whoa, Phillip, I need you to take deep breaths," my grandma says slowly.

I breathe in slowly, feeling my body go numb. I cough but don't feel any pain in my chest, my head, my arms, nothing. I can't even feel my lungs move as I breath. Everything feels brighter, and truthfully, I want nothing more than to go to sleep. The only thing I can feel is a warmth slowly taking over my body, and all I can hear is a flat ringing sound. It feels like someone is hugging me softly, singing light words to me. It's a female voice, deep and smooth. She's telling me that I am her child, and I will see her when I am ready. She's telling me that she loves me. She's holding me close to her, gently running her hand through my hair, rocking me. I'm crying, feeling the love that's going through my body.

"Shh, my child," she says slowly. "You're okay now. You're with me now. You're alright. I've got you."

"I want my dad," I cry out. "I want my pop. I want to see them I want to be with them."

"Shh, darling, you'll see them soon," she says, kissing my forehead. My eyes are still closed, so I don't know what she looks like, but I know she's right there.

"I don't want to see them soon, I want to see them now," I sob out.

"You are not ready to join me, are you?" She says softly.

"I want my parents," I sob out, pressing my head to her chest. "Please don't take me away from them yet. They love me. I love them. I miss them. I want to see them again."

"Shh, my child, you will," she says slowly, rocking me. "Let me in, let me heal you. I only want to heal you."

I sniffle, nodding out and take a deep breath. Suddenly, everything is bright and warm. My chest no longer hurts, my body feels as if it's on so many opioids. I feel safe, warm, loved. I feel hands gently running over my wrists, my chest, healing them. I feel my heart beating in my chest. I feel safe.

"Tell Alex I love him," my grandma's voice whispers. And then there's nothing.

Everything is dark. My body is aching like a motherfucker. My stomach is shifting uncomfortably, and my chest is pounding, hurting. My hands are pressed against cold metal, and my fingers feel almost numb. Something is triggering my gag reflex, but I can't tell what. My throat is dry and hurting so badly, and my head is pounding. Someone is humming La Vie En Rose, but I don't know who.

I open my eyes just a bit, then quickly shut them when white light pours in. Slowly, I open them again, giving myself a second to adjust to the lighting. When my eyes focus, I realize I'm staring at the ceiling of a hospital room. A tube is down my throat, IV's are in my hands, and I am really cold.

I keep still, trying to remain calm since I've seen enough medical drama's to know that just tearing out things that have been put into you by doctors is not a good idea. I think of the tongue twister my dad taught me, then glance around. I see a nurse in a maroon uniform, at the counter, filling something out. Realizing I can't exactly use my voice, I snap my fingers, which hurts like a motherfucker.

She whips around and there's this moment where we just make eye contact for a second, and it's almost awkward, and then she realizes that I'm a seventeen-year-old kid with a breathing tube down his throat who has just woken up in the hospital.

"Hey, sweetie, stay calm, I'm gonna get that breathing tube right out, alright? Just gimme a second," she says, opening a cabinet and pulling out a tray like thing, small, flat on the bottom, with about half an inch of wall on the sides. I watch her come over and adjust the bed so I'm sitting up, then hold the bowl under my chin. She smiles softly at me. "Alright, on three, I want you to breathe out, alright?"

I sort of nod, though it's a bit difficult.

"Alright, one, two, three." She pulls the tube out of my throat and I realize what the little tray thing is for because I begin vomiting. Now, the first heave looks like that could be the only thing in my stomach, but then I begin throwing up more, spilling it onto the nurses gloved hands and the bedding over my legs. Thankfully, I stop not too much longer after that, looking up at the nurse with a comical smile on my face.

"Wow," I mumble, my voice hoarse. "Not the greatest meet-cute I've ever had, but hi, I'm Phillip Hamilton."

The nurse chuckles. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, I'm really excited to see the results of my boob job," I mumble. My stomach shifts again and I realize something. "Although, I really need to take a Walt Disney shit. Can I do that or is that like, not allowed yet? I've never been hooked up to IVs, so I don't know the rules."

"That would be the laxatives," the nurse chuckles. "Alright, well, I'm gonna give you a water bottle and help you to the bathroom, then change up this bedding so you don't have to lie in your own vomit."

"Aw," I say sarcastically as she helps me sit up a bit more. "But that's my favorite pastime." I stand up a bit too quickly, and I'm leaning against the bed and the nurse almost instantly, my head spinning. "Wow. Trippy."

"You still are getting blood," The nurse explains. "It's very important for you to leave all these needles in, okay?"

I nod. "Yeah, I can do that. Never been a huge fan of needles, but I think if my life depends on it, I can probably handle it."

"Alright, the bathroom is right here," she says, leading me over to a door. "The door doesn't lock, and I'll be knocking on it every minute or so to make sure you're okay, does that sound good? It's a basic procedure after a patient tries to-"

I cut her off. "It's cool. I get it. I'll try not to have any major issues while taking a shit though because I mean, you've already seen me vomit all over you and myself, I really would like to keep shit out of the equation until the second date."

The nurse rolls her eyes. "I'm flattered, but I'm engaged."

I look at her, smiling. "I'm gay."

She chuckles. "Go, use the toilet. Just call out if you need any help."

"I will," I respond, stepping into the bathroom and using the little pole thing with the IV and blood transfusion as support. I'm very careful, pulling up my hospital gown and pulling down my underwear. I sit down and lean back, ready for this hell hole.

"Wowie!" I say, burst out of the bathroom. "That hurt like a motherfucker! That was like, just liquid. Black liquid. Hey, should I be worried about that?"

The nurse laughs again, gently helping me back into my hospital bed. "I'm glad that your pain killers are working. And no, don't worry, that's just charcoal."

"Did someone light a fire in me?" I ask quietly. "Because honestly, that's what it feels like. Also, just checking, I am alive, right? I've had some weird hallucinations I think in the past uh, while I guess."

"Do not worry, Phillip Hamilton," the nurse says. "You are alive."

"Hold on, if you get to know my name, why can't I know yours?" I whine.

"My name is Catherine," the nurse tells me. "Now, I'm gonna bring a doctor in so he can check on you and stuff like that. You know, make sure you aren't gonna flat line."

"Gucci swag," I say, nodding.

"Oh boy," she chuckles, rolling her eyes. She leaves the room for a second, leaving me to sit in silence.

Well, I made it. I'm not dead in a morgue with my parents crying over my body. I'm alive in a hospital where my parents will still, most likely cry over my almost dead body. I'm glad I didn't die, I guess, but like, it's gonna be hard to face everyone. It's going to be hard to face Peter, Lafayette, Theo, my dad and pop, and basically everyone else. I don't know if I can.

"Hello, Phillip Hamilton?" Says a man, coming in with Catherine behind him. He's shorter, young, with light brown skin and short curly black hair. "I'm Doctor Newman, but you can just call me Paul. I'm here for your checkup. I just want to make sure everything is okay. First, we need to check on your stitches."

"Stitches?" I say slowly. I look down to my arms, which are bandaged tightly, then remember that I slit my wrists in my families bathtub. "Oh, yeah."

"Alright, we're gonna change the dressing, and clean them," Paul states, coming to stand next to me and beginning to unwrap my right arm. I look away, staring at anywhere but my arm. I keep my eyes fixed on my finger with the heart monitor clip on it. I listen to the gentle beeping, flinching slightly as he wipes down my arm. He wraps it up again and moves to the other arm. I close my eyes and lean back, really not wanting to look.

"Phillip, would you like a popsicle?" Catherine asks, noticing how scared I look in that moment. "We have grape, cherry, and lime."

"Cherry?" I say slowly.

"Catherine, I don't think his main concern is what flavor popsicle he wants," Paul says, fitting the cold bedside manner stereotype that most doctors have.

"Let it be, Dr. Newman," she says, carefully going over to a little mini fridge and pulling out a popsicle. She takes the wrapping off and wraps the stick in a napkin, then hands it to me. I smile, licking it and looking to Paul, who has finished wrapping up my other arm.

"Alright, have you made a bowel movement yet?" He asks.

"Unfortunately," I groan, licking the popsicle again.

"Why, unfortunately?" Paul asks, looking up from his clipboard.

I give him a dull look. "I haven't really eaten in a while, so shitting vodka and charcoal wasn't exactly my idea of a good time."

"Alright, are you having trouble breathing?" He continues, giving an exasperated look to his clipboard as he checks something off.

I shake my head. "No, I'm breathing my normal amount."

"And what about vision? Is it spotty or in and out?" He questions.

I glance around the room, seeing if anything is changing or spotty. "No, no spotty vision, just a bit of a headache, but ten bucks says that's from low blood sugar."

"Alright, I want food brought into him," Paul states, "can you move all your limbs?"

"I walked myself to the shitter, so yeah, I would say my limbs work. My fingers feel a bit numb and tingly, though, is that normal? Like, they feel like sparkling water or TV static," I say, staring down at my hands and moving my fingers a little bit.

"Don't worry, that's just result of the tendon and nerve damage," he tells me.

I crease my eyebrows. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Well, when the lacerations were formed, many nerves, as well as the major tendons running down your wrist, were cut, leaving you with most likely permanent damage," Paul states casually as if he were telling me the weather.

"Wait, hold on, I'm a painter," I start. "Does that mean I can't hold a paintbrush? What does this mean? You can't just, I just, I need some details, I work with my hands a lot. I'm a student in two AP classes for christ's sake. I need my hands. I need to know if they're like, not going to be useful anymore." My voice cracks and tears come to my eyes. "I need to know if I need to literally change up my life plan because of this."

Catherine comes over and sits next to me, taking my hand gently.

Paul sighs. "Your hands will never go back to how they were. If you put them through a lot of strenuous work, like painting, they will start to hurt, but there are a lot of options for help. You can do physical therapy, and there are massages you can give your hands and wrists to help the pain. Regular old aspirin would help too, and if you build up muscle on your arms, that will definitely help as well. You do not have to stop painting, and you'll be fine in school, though I think typing would be a lot better for the first few months back, so we'll write you a note saying that you need to use your laptop for notes and other things that include writing."

"Will I be able to work a camera?" I ask slowly, gripping Catherine's hand. "Like, a real professional photography camera?"

"Like I said, with PT, some muscle gain, and a bit of work, yes, you will. I don't think this should totally throw you off the rails, but you will need to work up to get the skill you had back, and even then, I can't promise you'll go back to the way you were, but you'll be able to work with a camera, as well as a brush, as long as you aren't doing any minuscule details, you'll be fine." The doctor sighs. "I know this is scary, Phillip, but we're here for you."

I nod.

"Alright, now let's talk about withdrawal symptoms," the doctor continues. "You may experience paranoia, itching or uncomfortable skin, hunger or loss of appetite, shaking, cold sweats, restlessness, nausea, agitation or irritability, depression, anxiety, insomnia, disorientation, slowness in activity, racing thoughts, boredom, dissociation, runny nose, dilated pupils, watery eyes, or weakness."

"Jeez, all that for an acne medication?" I joke.

Catherine laughs, Paul doesn't.

"Anyway," Paul sighs. "You will be kept here for a couple of days for a mental evaluation, though we see you have already been diagnosed with depression."

I gasp. "I have depression?"

"Can you please refrain from turning this into a joke? We're talking about your health," Paul says, almost rolling his eyes. "Besides that, there's not much more to tell you. Any questions about anything at all?"

"How long have I been here?" I ask slowly.

"Well, it's eight in the evening now, and you got here at four in the morning, so I would say, I dunno, sixteen hours about?" Paul stands up. "I'm going to go check on my other patients, so, Catherine, you take care of him, make sure he gets some food and what not."

When he leaves, Catherine sighs. "He has no bedside manner, I'm sorry. Hey, are you okay? You seemed pretty scared."

I groan. "No. I fucked up my hands forever because of some heroin influenced decision that I had every reason not to make. I mean, I get that most kids are worried about other things after they try to kill themselves, but I really just want to be able to continue to do art."

"Hey," Catherine says sweetly. "My brother's an artist you know. He was a soldier and he got involved in a bombing, lost one hand and severely messed up another, but he still makes beautiful pieces with watercolor." She pulls out her phone and shows me a few paintings. They're abstract, of birds and people and whatnot. She snows me a couple before putting her phone away. "If he can do that with one half working hand, then you can do that with the occasional hand cramp. I promise Paul made it sound way worse than it actually is. What the nerve and tendon damage means is that you may have trouble gripping things really tightly, but you're not giving a paintbrush a death grip, right?"

I shake my head, smiling.

"Then you'll be able to paint. You may get cramps, and you may have trouble holding your hand steady, but you can massage the cramps away, and the only way to be more steady is to practice, so really, you should keep painting if you want to help your hand," she tells me.

I take a deep breath. "This whole situation is just so freaky," I mutter. "I've never done anything like this, and I've been in a hospital twice, and I remained conscious both those times. Oof, I'm just like, in a lot of pain and stuff like that, but you know, I'll live."

She smiles and nods. "Well, now that you're awake and alive, I feel like I should call someone in from your family. I've never seen twenty people camp out in a hospital hallway for one person, but today is a day of firsts I guess. Would you like to see your parents first?"

I freeze up. "Could we maybe pretend I died for a few days?"

She sighs. "Phillip, you have to see them. They're really worried about you, all of them. Your parents especially. You flatlined at one point, and I watched your dad pass out. Like, full-on pass out. They're just as scared as you, and they just want to know you're okay. I know you're scared, but I've been keeping them updated, and I have never seen a more caring, loving group of people come in with a kid who tried to kill themselves. They all are so worried about you, and just want to be there for you. If things get overwhelming..." She holds up a tiny button connected to a wire. "Just press right here, and I'll come in and tell them you need your rest, okay?"

I nod. "Okay. I wanna see my parents, could you send them in first?"

She smiles, standing up. "Of course I can, Phillip."

She leaves the room, and it takes me a second to remember how to breathe. My chest tightens a bit, but I stay calm, gently tapping my fingers against the metal armrest of the hospital bed. It takes a few seconds of silence, but suddenly my dad bursts into the room, tripping and face planting right onto the floor.

"Fuck, Alex, are you okay?" My pop says, coming in right after him.

"Phillip!" My dad says, ignoring that he just fell and half running half tripping over to me. He takes me quickly up into a hug, squeezing me tightly, his shoulders shaking as he cries into my shoulder. I hug him back, tears slipping through my eyes. My pop puts his arms around both of us and rests his chin on the top of my head. The three of us are sobbing, holding onto each other and trying to calm down. As much as I don't want to let them go, I begin to realize that I have important needles in my hand.

"Fuck, my IV," I mutter. They both let go instantly. I stare down at my hand for a second where the needles are, making sure the needles are still in, then look back to them. "So, what's shaking?"

"Fuck, what  _is_  shaking?" My dad says, pulling a chair closer to my bed and sitting down. My pop sits next to him, gripping his hand tightly and gently patting my knee to a beat.

"Jesus, Phillip," my pop mutters, resting his head down on my leg, closing his eyes. "Don't do that ever again. That was, that was too scary."

"Why, why did you..." my dad pauses. "Fuck, god, my son. I love you so much. We love you so much. We're right here. We're not mad at you, and we're not disappointed. You need to know that. You need to know that we're not mad at you. We love you so much, and we're here to do whatever you need. We love you so much."

I bite my lip, trying not to cry. "I love you guys too."

"We're right here," my pop whispers. "No one is going to hurt you. We're not going anywhere. We're right here."

"I'm sorry," I choke out, my voice breaking into a sob. "I'm sorry I did this, and I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry you had to walk into the bathroom to see me like that. I'm sorry you had to take me to the hospital at four in the morning and I'm sorry for this whole mess I've caused. I didn't want to hurt you guys."

"Hey, shh," my dad says sweetly, wiping a few tears off my cheeks. "No, hey, we're right here, it's okay. We really didn't mind taking you to the hospital Phillip. Like, out of all the things, driving to the hospital was the lowest on the list." My dad holds up his hands, one above the other. He shakes the higher one, which is about as high as his arm will go. "Here is your health and safety." He then shakes the hand which is just on the hospital bed. "And here is driving to the hospital. Your health and safety are automatically more important, so don't be sorry about that. It's okay."

"Don't be sorry about anything," my pop tells me. "You have no reason to be sorry. We're just so glad you're safe and awake, and in our arms talking to us. We love you so much, and we're gonna stay here with you. Everyone is here and waiting for you. Peggy flew all the way from Amsterdam and got here an hour ago, Eliza and Maria drove down, literally everyone is outside that door. It's a whole ass family reunion."

I groan. "Oh god, you know that probably means Angie is trying to kill Eliza with a glare and, oh no, did Theo kill Georges? Oh shit, is Peter okay? Is Washington here?"

"Angie  _is_ trying to kill Eliza with a glare, Theo hasn't killed Georges but that's because we made sure didn't, and Peter is okay. He was really scared, but was a lot better when we got told you were stable," my dad explains. "You hemorrhaged like, eighteen times, why are you bleeding so much? Get more iron."

I roll my eyes, smiling. "Gee, I'll make that my first priority."

Suddenly, Catherine walks through the door with a tray of food. "By request of that asshole Paul, I brought you food, buddy. All vegan, like your parents, told me."

"No, no, Catherine, actually, I would like to eat pure iron, preferably melted and put into a cup, with a silly straw," I say, giving her a joking look.

"Okay mister meet-cute," she laughs. "I'll think about it, but I don't really want you throwing up melted iron onto me and the bed."

I give her an offended look as I stab my fork into some noodles. "Catherine, don't tell my parents I threw up."

"Phillip, I've literally cleaned up every body fluid you have except brain matter," my pop deadpans.

Catherine laughs. "Well, let's hope it never comes to that. Parents, can I talk to you? We can stay in here, Phillip has heard everything I'm about to say, and since you are his legal guardians, it's important for you to be in the loop."

"Yeah, sure thing," my dad says, nodding.

"Well, Phillip is set up to be released in a few days after a mental evaluation, and where you'll take it from there can be decided with the hospital psychiatrist, but for now, I would like to fill you in on Phillip's condition." Catherine hands my parents a sheet of paper. "Phillip suffered damage to the nerves and tendons in his wrists, which means he'll need to go to physical therapy to regain full use of both his hands."

"Wait, he's an artist, does that mean he can't paint?" My pop says quickly, looking up at Catherine. "Because, I mean, he's amazing, and he-"

Catherine cuts him off. "Don't worry, don't worry. Phillip had the same worries as you. What this means is that he's going to need to regain strength in his hands and wrists, which means he should not be afraid to paint even more to train his hands and wrists again. He will get cramps if he overworks himself, or even works at his normal amount. Luckily, those can be helped with aspirin and a massaging that the physical therapist will teach him. It may take him a while to be back at his regular skills, but the last thing I would suggest is to stop painting altogether. His withdrawal symptoms are listed on the paper I gave you guys, so those may be drawn out over the next couple of days to a week."

"Does he have any permanent organ damage?" My pop asks.

"Well, I wouldn't suggest doing heroin again, says his pancreas is looking pretty beat up. Probably just a good detox from pills, in general, would help, nothing stronger than some baby aspirin for his wrist for a while, and then even after that, no more than an ibuprofen for a good couple of years," she explains. "His body needs to do some serious repair."

"Smoking weed is still on the table though, right?" I say slowly, taking the last bite of the paper bowl full of noodles that I've been eating through this whole conversation.

"Phillip!" My dad exclaims.

Catherine gives me a knowing smile. "No drinking, kid. Alcohol and pills are your worst enemy, and that's all I'm gonna say."

"That includes Eliza's fancy wine at Christmas dinner," my pop tells me.

"I know, I know," I say, offering a cheeky smile and beginning to munch down on a salad. "Do I get a wheelchair?"

My dad gives me a strange look.

I shrug. "I think it would cool."

"Well, I would offer, but right now we just need to let your wrists heal, which means you shouldn't exactly be pushing your body weight in a wheelchair," Catherine tells me. "Alright, well, I'll leave you three alone. Remember, only three other people are allowed in Phillip's room at a time, so please don't let me come in here and see the twenty people out in the hallway all crowded in here."

"Don't worry, Catherine," I smile. "I'll make sure they behave."

"Good boy," she smiles, walking out of the door.

"Well, she's nice," my pop says.

"Oh, yeah," I nod. "I made the best first impression ever. She pulled a breathing tube out of my throat, and then I threw up all over her and the bed and then told her I needed to take a shit. So yeah, obviously I think my courting is going great."

"Oh, Phillip," my dad chuckles. "You die for a few minutes, and somehow, you come back funnier."

"Oh my god!" I say. "Dad, I met your mom!"

"I'm sorry, you what?" My dad says.

"Oh my god, when I almost died I saw her too! Wiry woman, floral dress, bakes bread for you, right?" My pop exclaims.

I nod. "Yeah! I sat in her kitchen and waited to be revived again or whatever!" I pause, thinking about the other woman who held me and called me her child, rocking me and kissing my forehead. "Also, I think I met God?"

"I'm sorry, I'm still not over the fact that my husband and my son share the same near-death experience, and now my son is telling me he met  _God_? We need to slow down for a second," my dad says, shaking his head.

"No, I just, I felt this woman holding me and rocking to me, telling me that I was safe with her, and it was so warm and everything was so, I dunno. She sounded black," I go on, smiling almost. "Also, we should go to Rio."

"Wait, why?" My dad says.

I shrug, thinking about the 'fatter and older' uncle I may have. "It's pretty there."

My dad puts his head down. "You know, it's really hard to stay an atheist when you two keep talking about your afterlife 'I met God' stories."

I pause, looking down, then look back up at them. "You saw the video of the fight, didn't you? I know everyone saw it. I mean, if Eliza saw it, then you must've as well."

My pop sighs, patting my knee. "You throw a good punch, kid."

"Georges had no right saying anything like that to you," my dad states. "It was rude, unprofessional, impolite, and fucked up as hell. He had no right to bring up everything he did, and I'm glad you punched him in the jaw. He deserved it."

I chuckle. "He didn't deserve it."

My pop shifts, squeezing my knee a bit. "From what Theo said, then ranted about to me and your dad when the Lafayettes went to get food, Georges had been a prick to you for a while. Why didn't you tell us?"

I roll my eyes. "Georges has a temper, it's fine. He's just ass hurt that I don't like him. It's fine. I'm used to it."

"Well, hey, hold on," my pop starts. "No, first of all, it's not fine. No one, especially someone who is supposed to be your friend, should be mean to you. Second of all, believe it or not, I used to look hot and I did have to reject people, and no one was consistently mean to me, or to your dad because of it. Third of all, you should not be used to someone being mean to you. It's not right, and it's not good for you to be able to be okay with people mean. It's not good for your spirit, and it's not good for your heart."

I groan. "Ugh, I know about to get like, therapied up. Can I please just like, talk to the rest of the people who have been waiting to see me for the past sixteen hours? God, sixteen hours, that's like, awful. Yikes, I wouldn't even wait for me that long."

"Our conversation is not over, Phillip Hamilton," my pop sighs, standing up. "But yes, we should probably let literally everyone who has been waiting for you for sixteen hours see you. Who would you like to talk to? El? Peter? Theo?"

I crease my brows, giving them an odd look. "El is here?"

"Oh yeah, real nice guy," my dad states. "Don't like the idea of you hanging out with an adult, unsupervised, at a sketchy junkyard with easy access to heroin, but that's yet again, another conversation we're going to have. Anyway, who do you think misses you the most?"

"You know I gotta get my girl Theo in here," I state, smiling softly.

"Alright, we'll send her in," my pop states. "Love you, kid."

"Love you too," I reply.

They leave, and a few seconds later, a flash of brown hair shoots through the door and I'm being tackled by a sobbing lesbian, who is lying on top of me, stroking my hair and mumbling words that I can't identify since she is a crying mess. I gently stroke her hair, making sure to breathe while she sobs on top of me.

She sits up, straddling my legs. "Don't you  _ever_ do that again! Jesus Christ, Phillip, I thought I was gonna lose my best friend and there was no way I was gonna start hanging out with Georges more! Dammit, I love you so much, and if you ever feel like this again, I want you to call me, I will become right over and hug you and offer emotional support and be there for you! Oh my God! I was so worried about you and I love you and I never want to lose you and I'm never letting you go again!"

"Whoa, girl, easy, I got like, blood and nutrients being pumped into me so let's not mess with that," I say, looking down at my hand to make sure she didn't knock them out.

Theo groans, gently pressing her forehead against mine. She places her hand over my hand that doesn't have needles in it, gently holding it. "I love you so much, Phillip. You're my best friend, my brother. From womb to tomb."

"Birth to earth," I reply, squeezing her hand.

"I just hope you know, that if you had asked for anyone besides me after your parents, not only would I have body slammed whoever you asked to, but I would have burst in here, made a big speech, and then tackle you in a hug and all that stuff. But I'm glad I didn't have to do that and I just got to hug you," Theo explains.

I chuckle. "God, Theo, you're my best friend. No man is in a higher place than you. You are my best friend and ain't no relationship ever gonna change that. You are my first love, and if I had to pick someone to die by my side, it would be you."

"Yeah, well how about we just be by each other's sides, for now, no dying, we both are blackish, and we don't crack. We're gonna age so well, Phillip. So well. And if I have a son, I want him to have a male figure in his life who teaches him actual life skills like cooking and painting and stuff like that, because I can't do either," Theo groans. She leans back and looks around. "So, how are the doctors and nurses and stuff?"

"I have a Doctor named Dr. Newman, and he's a prick, and then I have a nurse named Catherine who got vomited on by me and still is incredibly nice," I state.

"Wait, you vomited on her?" Theo laughs. "Man, you are really not a ladies man."

I roll my eyes. "I woke up, vomited on her, told her I needed to take a shit, and then flirted with her a lot. I am on a lot of painkillers, I think."

"Oh God, Phillip," Theo groans. "Is she hot? Is she gay? Is she into poly lesbians?"

I roll my eyes. "She is engaged, you fool."

"Off my patient, please!" I hear Paul's voice say.

"Oh, no it's okay, I'm a lesbian," Theo states, turning around to look at him.

I begin laughing, running my hand with no needles through my short hair. "Theo, I don't think he thinks we're having sex, I think he just means he doesn't want you knocking out my blood transfusion or anything."

"Buzzkill," Theo mutters as she climbs off the bed.

"Thank you!" Paul states, leaving.

Theo sits down on a chair and takes my hand gently. "Phillip, why'd you do that?"

"Because I was sad," I tell her, sighing and leaning back into my big fluffy pillow.

She groans, resting her head on the hospital bed. "I was worried about you, Pip. My dad wakes me up from the living room floor at four in the morning and tells me that you're in the hospital, and suddenly I'm running here, in my ugly sweatpants might I add, find out that you're hemorrhaging on a hospital table and Jesus shit." Theo pauses and wipes her cheeks. "I thought I was gonna lose you, and I didn't want to lose you."

"Hey," I say slowly. "Hey, you're not gonna lose me. I'm right here."

"I almost hit Georges," she admits. "In front of all of our parents. I also called him a piece of shit and judgey. I was really mad."

"Oh, god, Theo," I groan.

"You better not let him just walk back into your life!" Theo scolds. "Make him work for it. He was a rude piece of shit to you, and I have never seen anyone take rejection that badly, so you take some you time, then see if you'll still tolerate him."

"I would still take a bullet for Georges," I state.

"Well, I don't want to shoot you, so I guess I'll refrain from gun violence," Theo sighs. "Also, you told your man you love him."

I pause, turning my head to her slowly. "I did?"

She gasps, slowly. "Oh, no, you don't remember?"

I slowly shake my head.

"Oh my god, you left him this whole voicemail," Theo starts.

I groan. "Oh, god, I left a voicemail? That's so fucking cringe. Wow, I didn't think I could hate myself even  _more_ but here I am, leaving voicemails for my boyfriend while high on heroin, telling him I love him apparently? What did I say?"

"Alright, you told him you'd learn Korean, and then you talked about traveling around Asia with him and then you thanked him for giving you a ride, and then you told him you loved him, and then you hung up," Theo recalls. "Then Peter started crying because he was sad."

"Fuck, I feel so bad. He dropped me off and then I slit my wrists," I mumble, running my hand over my hair. "I do not hate being with him that much, I promise."

"Georges totally tried to blame him for that, and both your dad and his dad, Hercules, snapped at him," Theo says. "And then your dad put a cigarette out in his hand because he didn't want to talk to aunt Angie, and then Peggy showed up and was totally crying with Eliza and basically growled at Angie. Oh my God, then Lafayette basically told Georges to sit down and shut up, and everyone is just tense and then we heard that you were stable and awake and everyone just started sobbing, and oh my god, Phillip." Theo stops, chuckling a bit. "Your doctor I think, or someone, tried to mansplain mental health to Eliza and he interrupted her, and she smacked his clipboard to the ground, stomped on it, and told him that she was a licensed therapist and she diagnosed him with asshole disease."

"I'm so glad I can count on you to recall every piece of drama from when I was dead," I state, rolling my eyes but smiling. "Okay, listen, I know we haven't talked about everything, but I'm really just trying to get through everyone, make sure they're okay and stuff like that."

"Yeah, no, I get it, just as long as I was first. It makes me more important," Theo states, smiling and standing up. She kisses my head and then pops her back. "Who would you like me to send in? You got like, a bunch of people waiting for you."

"Send in my man," I say, smiling.

She nods, then, before she leaves, she looks back to me. "Do you love him? Do you really love him, Phillip?"

I bite my lip, then nodded slowly. "He knows. He knew before the voicemail. I just had never said it out loud. So, yeah, send my lover turned boyfriend in."

Theo smiles then walk out, leaving me alone in there. I groan, looking around to see if my phone was anywhere to be seen, then remembering that my dad has it. I groan, wishing I could scroll through Tumblr or write gay poetry. I wanna write super gay poetry and publish it, like that lesbian goddess Sappho except with men. Lots of men. Or one man. Who is black. And plays a lot of sports. And tried to teach me to play Grand Theft Auto.

The door opens and I whip my head up, looking to see a tired looking Peter. His eyes look glossy and he looks like he's about to curl up on the floor and go to sleep. He stands in the doorway, staring at me. I can see glimpses of other people in the hallway, and they look like they're trying to peer in, but Peter steps forward and lets the door close.

"You know," I start. "You are the first person who hasn't tackled me in a hug. I mean, thanks for that, but you're allowed to like, shake my hand if you please."

Peter shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck as he walks closer to me. He takes my hand and gently leans down, pressing his lips to mine. I sigh into the kiss, squeezing his hand tighter. He gently places his other hand on my cheek, leaning in a bit closer, gently kissing me. His soft lips feel like heaven against mine. Yeah, I have loved the intense amount of love I've been getting, but a sweet soft kiss is really nice right now. Like a bit of peace.

"I love you," I whisper as he pulls away.

"I love you too," he mumbles. He sits down, holding my hand, gently rubbing his thumb over my knuckles and leaning against the hospital bed. He looks like he's almost swaying, trying to keep himself awake. Jesus, he really must've not slept at all last night.

"Hey, you should sleep," I mumble.

Peter shakes his head. "No, I just got you back, I'm not about to go to sleep and waste precious seconds I have with my beautiful boyfriend. I thought I, I thought like, the first relationship I ever liked ended and that really sucked. Also, uh, I've never really been in love with anyone, so it would be pretty shitty to lose you and I just..." Peter stops, taking a deep breath. "Dammit, I'm sorry, I'm so bad with words. I just, I love you, and I don't want to lose you, and I don't want you to die, so don't do that."

"Oh, honey, you're so tired," I mumble, leaning down and kissing the top of his head. "You need to sleep, darling. You need to go to bed. You should've gone to sleep hours ago. Have you really slept since you dropped me off?"

He groans, letting his head rest on the hospital bed. "I got about fifteen minutes."

"Alright, come here," I mumble, giving him a tug. "Get on."

"I don't wanna hurt you," he mumbles, his voice sounding tired.

"Get on," I command. He finds it very easy to climb on after that, curling up between my legs and resting his head on my stomach, holding my hand and closing his eyes. I sigh slowly, gently running my free hand over his hair. It takes him no time at all to basically pass out. I chuckle slowly, pressing the nurse button so I can ask Catherine to bring my aunt Peggy in.

"Hey, Phillip, what do you need?" Catherine asks slowly, looking at the sleeping guy between my legs.

"Well, this is my boyfriend," I state. "He's been up for thirty-six hours, more probably, so can I just let him sleep here?"

Catherine nods. "Yeah, sure. Is that all?"

I shrug. "Could you send my aunt Peggy in? She's a short woman, curvy, short curly hair, skin like mine."

"Sure thing, Pip," Catherine states. She leaves and I look back down to Peter, gently tapping my fingers against his curly black hair. His dark skin contrasts with my pale fingers, and his gentle afro-centric lips part slightly. He looks so beautiful.

"You want fucking beetroot?" I hear a strong Russian accent say.

I look up, smiling as my aunt Peggy walks through the door. "I want fucking beetroot. Go, go to the market and get me fucking beetroot."

She shakes her head, smiling, coming and sitting where Peter sat. "SOmeone obviously missed you."

I sigh sweetly, gently running my fingers over his hair. "He's tired. Been up for a while. My cool nurse who I threw up on is letting me do it."

"You threw up on her?" Peggy laughs. "Oh, wow, that's a real good first impression. Does your boyfriend know you're throwing up on other people?"

"Oh, no, I have not told him," I laugh.

She sighs, looking at the sleeping boy in my lap, and then back to me. "Did you really want to do it?"

I shrug, biting my lip. "At the time, I guess. I was just, it was like everything just sort of blew up in my face and I really just needed to get out of there. I really just needed to be in a coma or something. Then I did a lot of drugs and slit my wrists, so you know, it wasn't a very calm situation."

Peggy sighs sadly. She closes her eyes for a second, the wipes them with the back of her hand. She takes a deep breath and looks back to me. "I know I'm not always available, but you can call anyone, you know? We all love you and are incredibly worried about you and just want to be there for you. You know we do. You know we would do anything for you. I mean, God, I just, I was so scared. I had an eight-hour plane ride here and couldn't get in contact with anyone for long amounts of time, and then I found out you flatlined and I thought we lost you and I was so terrified and Jesus, Phillip." She gently places her hand on my arm. "I couldn't bear the idea of losing my nephew. You are so special to me, Phillip, and I don't know what I would've done if you had been lost. You just, you're the only person out of everyone out there who actually gets why I love living the way I do, and I've always felt like such a loner compared to my sisters, and then you came along and you're just like me in so many ways. God, I just, I don't want to lose you, ever. I want to watch you grow up and become the person you are. I want to watch you live a real life, a happy life. I know, I know that I'm rambling, but, I just, I want you to know how much I care about you and love you, Phillip."

I sniffle. "I love you too, Aunt Peggy."

"And, uh, I was gonna save this for the summer, but I feel like this might be something to look forward to," Peggy starts. "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to do an exchange program? Come live with me for like, a semester and study in France? You don't have to. Like, no pressure at all. But, just, if you wanted to. I already brought it up to your parents a few weeks back, and they told me to ask you, and I dunno, I just, if you want-"

"Are you being serious?" I ask a smile slowly spreading over my face.

She nods. "Of course I am. I'd totally settle down for a few months and stay in France while you go to school. It would be an honor, Pip."

"Oh, I would be able to get AP classes right? I need two more next year to be able to qualify for Amsterdam University, and I still want to have all the credits to graduate in New York," I start, thinking about what spending a semester in France would be like.

"Don't worry, you would get all the classes you need. Would you want to do your first semester or second semester?" She asks, smiling.

"First," I state. "I wanna graduate with my friends. Oh my God, are you being like, actually for real? Like, you're being serious?"

She nods. "I want you to be able to look forward to something right now. Do you think your man will miss you?"

I nod. "Probably, but we'll still call and text and write each other, and it's just a couple months, no biggie."

Peggy nods, smiling. "Yeah, no biggie."

"Hey, could you send El in here?" I ask slowly. "He's the one guy no one here really knows but me. Braided hair, mixed kid, looks about twenty-five."

She nods and gets up, leaving. I wait a few seconds, and Then El comes in, looking quite grumpy. He sits down in a chair and huffs, crossing his arm, staring me down with an annoyed but worried expression etched on his face. I flash him a cheesy smile.

"Firstly, I don't need your money," El starts off, placing the cash I shoved into his coat pocket last night on my bed. "Secondly, why on earth would you do something like that? Jesus, Phillip, I was so freaked out. I got a call from your parents, who are wonderful people, by the way, telling me you're in the hospital, and suddenly I'm realizing you took like, twenty pills that are meant for people with much higher tolerance than you. Jesus, Phillip, I was so scared! I know I'm just some stoner who you met at a sketchy junkyard, but I care about you! I don't want you to die! I don't want you to be dead! Your parents seemed so worried, and also, it's very nice to know that you have a big support group! There's like, a crowd out there! And look at this man! He obviously cares about you!" El gestures to Peter. "You are, you need to stop doing drugs! They're bad for you!"

"Then you get out of that junkyard. You get Gov out of there too. Start hanging out with him at your apartment, fuck or something, whatever," I bargain.

El groans. "Okay, okay, but if I find out you are going back there, I'm gonna tell your parents. I know them now. I'm pals with your parents. Me and the shorter skinnier one? We're tight. Tight as fuck. You stay out of a drug wasteland."

"I will, I will." I sigh. "I just wanted to apologize for stealing your stuff, even though I did pay for it, and causing this whole mess. I'm sure there are better places to be spending your day. So yeah, I'm sorry."

El pauses, then looks down. "It's okay. You weren't in your right mind, and honestly, if I had just gone through what you did, I would've done a lot more than steal some drugs from a friend and slit my wrists, so, yeah. Don't worry about it. Look, I don't wanna take up all your time, since you got a real family out there, so I'm gonna head out, probably go home. But you text me, keep me updated, and don't fucking flatline or any of that bullshit. You got it?"

I nod. "I got it. Rest up."

"Will do," El nods. "Who do you want me to send in?"

"Lafayette," I answer.

He nods and then leaves. I groan, leaning back into my pillow. Peter gently squeezes my hand. I'm pretty sure the boy is barely awake, slipping in and out of consciousness, just awake enough to be with me, just asleep enough to not really know what's going on. I don't mind though. I just really like the way he's kinda curled up, gripping my hand, sleeping almost by my request but staying away by his request.

"Mon petite," says a voice.

I look up to see Lafayette, standing there in the doorway. He looks scared, as if any loud noises may break me. He's very careful as he gently seats himself in the chair next to my bed. He smiles almost at Peter, then looks to me, tears in his eyes.

"I gotta apologize," I say slowly. "I don't even know what you must be feeling. I overdose in your kitchen a bit, and then I promise you I won't do pills again and so you don't tell my parents, and then a few months later I'm literally in the hospital, overdosing. I'm sorry for what I did, for lying, for hurting you, and for punching your son. Didn't really mean to do that."

"Non, do not apologize. I should've told your parents right away. You obviously have been in a very dark place recently, and I shouldn't have, I just, just don't be sorry. What happened has happened, but let's focus on recovery," Lafayette says, gently touching my arm. "I would like to apologize on Georges' behalf, for all the things he said. He was hurtful, rude, and totally out of line. You didn't deserve that."

I shrug. "It's fine, he was just mad, it's no big deal."

"Well hold on, it is a big deal," Lafayette states. "I don't tolerate what he said under my roof. There's a difference between being upset and then being totally out of line. You have done nothing wrong, and you will be getting a fully fledged apology from him."

I sigh. "He doesn't have to do that."

"Well he's going to," Lafayette continues. "Does it hurt too terribly?"

"Oh, no, people have said worse to me," I laugh, shrugging.

He stops for a second, almost cracking a smile. "I meant like, your person as a whole, since you know, it kinda hurts to almost die."

"Ooh, yeah, it hurts a lot," I state. "My whole body just feels like trash. It's like a fever without congestion. I feel like I'm going to just like, collapse and give in on myself or whatnot. You know? But I think I'm gonna ask my cool nurse to pump up the morphine so I can sleep, or just like, relax a bit more."

"Well, Peter looks like he's relaxing quite nicely," Lafayette chuckles. "Everyone kinda slept out in the waiting room, but I don't think Peter laid down once. He was real tired."

I nod. "All of y'all need to go home, get some sleep, yeah?"

Lafayette nods. "Yeah, we do."

I sigh. "Can you send in James and Thomas? I just want to hand Peter off to them, let you guys go home, you know?"

"Alright, kid, well, I'll send Thomas and James in, and then I'll let everyone know that it's time to go home and rest up," Lafayette states. "I love you, Phillip."

"I love you too, Lafayette." I sigh and watch as he leaves. Peter, who is obviously half awake, gently begins kissing the palm of my hand, moving up, over the bandages that rest on my arm. He kisses up to the crook of my elbow, then back down to my palm.

"I love you," he mutters.

"You need to go home," I state slowly.

He nods. "I know, but I really just want to be with you for these last few seconds I have. You promise I'll see you again?"

"I promise," I tell him.

"Also, you should totally go to France for first semester next year," he tells me. "It sounds like something you would seriously enjoy doing, and I know you love to travel, so you should most definitely do that."

I smile. "I will. But you have to let me text you every day and send you selfies of me drinking-"

He cuts me off. "Water and juice."

I groan. "Yeah, yeah. You know I love you, right?"

"I do, I do," he chuckles. "I'm totally keeping that voice mail by the way."

A sigh escapes my lips. "I can't believe that not only did I leave a voicemail, but I told you I loved you in that voice mail. Out of all the things I've done it my life, that has to be one of the weirdest and unnecessary of them all. You know, I totally had it planned out how I was gonna tell you, too. I was gonna kiss you and then tell you, and if was gonna be a whole thing, but instead I called you from my second-floor bathtub."

"Mmf, it's okay," Peter mumbles. "I'm just glad we can finally say it because now we can do so many more Broadway duets together."

"That's gay," I laugh.

"Hey, Pip," I hear Thomas' southern accent say. "You doing okay, buddy?"

"I think Peter is in worst shape than me right now, and that's saying something considering they're draining a liter of blood into my body," I laugh. "Y'all should take him home, let him sleep. He needs it, a lot."

"Alright, come on, pal," Thomas says, gently touching Peter's shoulder.

Peter groans and gets off of my hospital bed, still obviously tired. He stretches, popping his back, and then leans down and plants a small kiss on my lips. "You, you better stay safe, listen to your cool nurse and asshole doctor. Don't get hurt, and let them feed you. I love you, alright? Just text me whenever, or call, or write me a letter, I don't really care."

I chuckle. "I love you too. I'll text you tomorrow, make sure you know that I'm alive and whatnot. Bye, darling."

"Goodbye, dearest," Peter mumbles, kissing the top of my head on more time before leaving. I smile lightly, willing myself not to cry, then wait a few more seconds for my parents to come back in. They both look tired, but different kind of tired. My dad looks 'I'm hopped up on coffee and not gonna sleep any time soon though I probably should' tired while my pop looks 'I'm about to pass out from exhaustion' tired.

"So, how was that?" My dad asks as he and my pop sit down. My pop wastes not a single second, placing his head on my dad's shoulder and closing his eyes. My dad just crosses his legs and gently takes my pop's hand.

I shrug. "It wasn't as bad as it could've been, but I think I'm gonna ask my nurse to gimme some morphine so I can sleep. You guys should sleep too. You can go home if you want, sleep in your own beds."

My pop groans. "No."

"Alright, well at least sleep," I chuckle.

My dad nods. "Alright, well you call your nurse in, get to sleep, kid. We'll be here."

I look at my dad and smile softly. "I know."


	38. The Hamilton's son isn't supposed to be leaving the hospital but he doesn't give a freakin swag

 

/Phillip/

I've done plenty of unsafe things in my life. It doesn't take a genius to tell me that I am reckless by nature. I don't mind though that I'm like that. It's not like it's ever got me killed for very long. I must say though, finding your clothes that are still a bit covered in blood and sneaking out of a hospital is something that I don't think even my parents would approve of. In my defense though, I have been cooped up for two days with nothing to do, so of course, I'm gonna get dressed, grab my phone, and get myself out of there. I'll update my Snapchat though so they can know I'm not about to jump off Brooklyn bridge or something.

I'm walking down the street, rain gently falling down, bandages still wrapped tightly around my arms, earbuds in, very glad to be living in New York at this moment. Why am I glad? Because no one is going to stop me, though my clothes are stained with blood, I have a hospital bracelet on, and it is the middle of the school day. To everyone else, I'm just an actor, going to get coffee or something from the movie set about a kid who slit his wrists or something.

I walk down the steps to the subway, hopping over the turnstile and waiting for the D train to come so I can go to school. I'm not going to stay, I'm just going to collect someone so they can come on my adventure with me. Probably Georges, if we're being honest. I mean, yeah, he was incredibly mean to me, hurt me emotionally, and made me feel like utter shit about myself, but eh, does it really matter in the long run? We're just emotional teenagers.

I get on the train and take a picture of my bloody jeans, captioning it 'I love New York because you can walk around like this and there are still people who are weirder than you.' I post it, ignoring any messages I'm getting from my parents. I know they'll check my social media. They do that whenever I disappear for a little bit, and they usually find me that way. I'm gonna play a game with them today. Not a mean malicious game, but I'm just gonna get them to come and visit their old neighborhood and see Usnavi and Sonny.

The train arrives a block from my school and I get out, smiling as I check the time. It's English time, which means I know exactly where Georges is. So, as I sneakily enter the school, I smile, skipping down the halls, covered in blood with bruises on my hands from the needles and my wrists wrapped in a bandage. I am no longer taking painkillers, which kinda sucks because that means I'm feeling withdrawal symptoms, but it's nothing the company of a friend and some food can't fix, plus maybe some clean clothes.

"Hey! What are you doing?" I hear a voice say.

"Shit," I mutter, taking off. I turn a corner and enter Mr. King's English room, running down the rows of desks and ducking behind Georges' desk, breathing heavy. Mr. King is looking at me with wide eyes, wondering why the hell I'm existing in my current form in his classroom, probably rethinking his choices to be a teacher. I just smile at him from Georges' desk. "Mr. King, I'm not here."

Suddenly, the vice principal bursts into the room. "Is Phillip Hamilton here?"

"Uh, no," says Mr. King. "Should I be on the lookout for him?"

"Yes, I don't know why he's here at school when his parents said he wouldn't be, but chances are he's supposed to be somewhere else," the vice principal explains. He leaves and Mr. King lets out a breath, then turns to me.

I stand up, pumping my fist. "I'm back, bitches!"

"Phillip, what on earth are you doing here?" Georges says. "Aren't you supposed to be at a hospital right now?"

I wave my hand. "I'm physically fine, they just were keeping me for a mental evaluation, but I have a diagnosis, so I don't know why they're evaluating me. What are you doing here?"

"Going to school," Georges says, staring at me with wide eyes. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"Alright, hold on," says Mr. King. "Phillip, are you bleeding out? Dying?"

"Not anymore," I state proudly.

"Okay, do I need to call an ambulance? Or the police?" Mr. King continues.

I shake my head. "Nah, I'm getting my parents to see an old friend, so it's no big deal. I'm just here to get Georges. I need his car and his company." I look at Georges, smiling. "Come on, it's time to go. We got stuff we need to do. I'll buy you dinner."

"Phillip, I can't tell if you're high or serious," Georges states honestly.

"Probably both," I shrug. "Mr. King, you're on the bottom floor, can we climb out your window? Please? It would be helpful, so we would have to face scramble face Joe back there." I gasp, realizing I should update my parents on my current location, so I pull out my phone and snap a quick selfie, the desks with students in the background, and then post it.

Mr. King sighs. "Just, just go. Georges, please get him back to wherever he needs to be. Jesus, this school is gonna give me a thousand grey hairs, if not more."

I smile, pulling Georges over to the window and climbing onto the counter. "Thanks teach! See you at one point in the next few years."

I jump out of the window and land on the ground, then watch Georges jump out with me, pulling his keys out of his pocket. We walk through the courtyard quickly so as not to get too wet from the rain to the parking lot where Georges' car is. I get into the lime green bug, smiling as Georges gets in with me. I instantly pick a new CD to listen to, choosing some Cyndi Lauper.

"Alright, let's stop by my house first so I can get clothes that aren't covered in blood. Ooh, maybe cut off the hospital bracelet, and grab an umbrella. I'll order Chinese food from Hunan's, and then we can take a subway up to Washington Heights," I say. "You know, I walked down the streets of Manhattan like this and no one said anything to me. No one asked if I should be in a hospital, nothing. You know, when I'm bumming around Asia, I just might miss this place. Probably not, but maybe."

Georges is painfully silent.

"Lame ass, talk to me," I groan. "I've spent the last forty hours talking to my asshole doctor, my cool nurse, and my parents, I need some outside world contact."

"Are you mad at me?" He asks quietly.

"Oh, yeah, that's why I'm in your car right now talking to you," I say sarcastically. "I'm obviously not mad at you. Are you mad at me?"

"No," he mumbles. "I feel like you should be mad at me."

"God, for something that was three days ago? I don't hold grudges that long, it usually takes me about a day to get over something," I say, putting my feet up on his dash.

"I'm sorry for what I said," he tells me genuinely.

"Prove it by getting over me," I say. "Lord knows I date every once in a blue moon. You, you are a fucking stud, and you'll get like, eight men at once, you don't need me. I promise, someday you'll get a boyfriend and it'll be great, I'm just not that boyfriend that's gonna make things great."

"Don't say that," Georges mumbles.

I shrug. "Eh, I'm fickle, and you should be too. Just, get over me. I like being friends with you and I don't want things to be awkward or anything, I just want to be your friend."

Georges sighs, shooting me a sarcastic look. "Alright, I'll get over you. May I ask why you really left the hospital? I have a feeling it was more than being bored."

I groan. "You know you really should stop knowing me so well." A small chuckle escapes my chest. "No, my parents and the hospital therapist or whatever started talking about rehab and a couple of months at a psych hospital, and I just got a bit overwhelmed, so I asked them if I could sleep, and they said yes, and then I got dressed and left. I mean, being overwhelmed wasn't my only reason for leaving, but it was the biggest."

"You know," says Georges, driving down a road through central park to get to my house. "Someday, this reckless behavior is gonna get you killed."

"But it already did!" I say, laughing. "Oh man, that's probably not as funny to anyone else as it is to me, but I am having a  _vacation_ with all the jokes I've been making. Who knew I was so funny after a suicide attempt? Comedy Central, here I come."

"Jesus, Pip," Georges mumbles, pulling into my neighborhood. "What are we gonna do about you? Obviously, you're not going anywhere anytime soon, so we should probably figure out something for you to do."

"My nurse is pretty hot, I could do her," I say. "I'm kidding! She's engaged and I'm only bisexual when I'm drunk or near Meghan Markle. She's real nice though. Brought me pudding cups when the doctors said I shouldn't be having any sugar."

Georges pulls up to my house. "Alright, will you be in and out or will we be here a while?"

"In and out," I answer. "Just gotta change, take a selfie, and then we're ready."

"Why a selfie?" Georges asks as I get out.

"Oh, I'm just trying to make sure my parents know I'm alive," I answer before closing the door. I skip up to my stoop and get into the house, climbing the stairs to my room quickly. I change out of my bloodstained tee shirt and jeans, slipping on some black skinny jeans, a white shirt with a sheep on it, and then my flower kimono. I grab a beanie and my heart-shaped sunglasses, slipping them on and then snapping a quick selfie in my mirror, before practically jumping down the stairs and back outside into Georges' car, while grabbing an umbrella. My short curly hair sticks out of the beanie gracefully, and my heart shaped glasses really offer something for my face, making me look livelier. I'm glad Georges' heater works because it's not exactly warm out on this early February New York day.

"Okay, I'm gonna call and order in for some Chinese food," I say, pulling out my phone. I see I have a bunch of text messages from Peter, my parents, Theo, and Lafayette. I ignore them and call the Chinese place in my contacts, sighing as it rang twice, then picked up. "Hello, I'm calling for a pickup."

"Alright, what would you like?" The woman on the phone says.

"I would like a small order of Vegetable Lo Mein, and a large order of sweet and sour chicken," I start off. "And a blue Powerade and a diet coke."

"Alright, your total is gonna be twenty-seven dollars even, it'll be ready in ten minutes," the lady tells me.

"Thank you!" I chime. I look to Georges, smiling. "I am so sick of hospital food. It has zero flavor, and my parents have been too busy to get me something decent."

"You know, I really do not understand you at all," Georges states.

"Well, what else is new?" I laugh.

"No, like, you overdose on heroin and slit your wrists in a bathtub, and then two days after you're complaining about the hospital food, and seemingly normal. I'm sorry, I just don't know how someone could come back from that so quickly." Georges sighs. "I mean, don't you feel like shit? I know I would."

I shrug. "It's really bold of you to assume that I actually express my emotions in a normal way. I mean, I've had some real messed up shit happen to me in the past couple of months, but you know, I don't give a swag. Of course, I actually give many swags, and often cry myself to sleep, but those are just messy details that don't matter all that much. My second or third face, you know?"

"Wow, you are really complicated," Georges says, nodding a bit.

"Isn't it wonderful?" I smile, crossing my legs. "No one can keep up with me. No, I'm gonna go to the fucking psych hospital, do their rehab therapy thing, get some coping mechanisms and all that bullshit, but for now, I just want to eat Chinese food and go get some of the best coffee you will ever have."

"God, you are an anomaly," Georges laughs.

I look over, eying the bruise on his jaw. "Damn, did I hit you that hard?"

"Yeah, you did!" Georges says, deep chuckles escaping his chest.

I smile. "Eh, I'm buying you dinner, so I'm not gonna apologize."

"Phillip, this is lunch. It's one in the afternoon," Georges points out, gesturing to his analog style radio clock in his car.

"Whatever," I groan, chuckling. I pull out my phone and groan. "People are messaging me a lot. I feel like I should probably text them back, but they can just check my Snap. Wait, I have a boyfriend now, I should probably... Eh. He'll be fine. People are gonna be fine. A couple of days ago, I was dead. Now I'm just missing. See? Already an improvement."

"You are going to make me keel over," Georges complains. "I think you spent too much time around Peggy because you are just like her."

"I'm like, eighty percent sure she's my surrogate mom," I state.

Georges looks at me. "Oh, really?"

I nod. "I was a c-section, and Peggy has a tattoo on her stomach right where a c-section scar would be. She moved back to New York for nine and a half months and I was born right around that half month mark. Also, who else looks sort of like my parents and me, and doesn't want kids or a spouse?"

"Have you asked your parents about it?" Georges says.

I shrug. "Not yet. I'll probably do it sooner or later. I really just keep forgetting."

He laughs. "That's the Phillip I know and love."

We pull into the Chinese place and get out. I open the umbrella and Georges holds it, walking close to me as we enter the Chinese place. I smile, sighing happily as I sit down at a table, waiting for a bag of food to be placed out on the counter. I'm hungry as hell and so ready to chow down on my Chinese food.

"So, I was thinking," I start. "We get the food, walk to the subway station, eat on the train to Washington Heights, and then chill in Washington Heights until my parents find me there."

"Out of like, your boyfriend and your best friend, I'm the one you kidnap. You have punched very few people in the past week, and I was one of them, yet I'm the one here with you, eating Chinese food and scaring your parents," Georges says in disbelief.

I shrug. "What can I say? Old habits die hard."

"You're too much," he groans.

I see them put food on the counter and I go up to it, asking if it's my order, then paying and walking back over to Georges. "Come on, get the umbrella, the subway station is just a short walk away."

He sighs and opens the door, putting the umbrella over us. I lean against him a bit as we walk, breathing in the wet New York air. He keeps one arm around my shoulders, another arm holding the umbrella over us. I keep one hand in my pocket and other hand gripping the white plastic bag holding our Chinese food. We get to the subway station, hopping over the turnstile after a moment of convincing Georges, and then sitting on the bench to wait for our train.

"Do you like having short hair?" Georges asks, looking at me.

I shrug. "I don't hate it, but I'm not head over heels for it. I don't really know how I want my hair to grow. Maybe keep the sides short, but grow out the top, I dunno. I don't know what I was going for when I just shaved it. Something different."

"What prompted you to do that?" Georges asks, laughing a bit.

I shrug, looking down. "I needed to be someone different. I still do, but just not this version. Maybe I'm gonna, like, change up the whole punk thing. Turn to something more vintage aesthetic. Just, not the person I am, right now. I think I need a change. You know? Change in style, change in scenery, change in everything. Maybe I'll start listening to new music, too. Just, change."

"Yeah, but why?" Georges continues.

I sigh, looking at him. "You have to promise not to yell, not to make a big deal out of it, not to keep talking about it or tell anyone, alright? I don't, I'm not really in the mood to get deep into this, and I'm about to spend a couple of months in a psych hospital, so I will be talking about it, just not with you, yeah?"

Georges nods.

I sigh, looking around a bit. "I got mixed up with the wrong dude, he did some shit to me. Some real bad shit. Then that straight boy who was going around and calling me stingy? He hit me, held me down, did the same shit. When that happens, you get real sick of the person who stares back at you in the mirror. I didn't want to see that version of myself anymore, and really, I still don't. I just, I want to be a new Phillip Hamilton, someone who doesn't, doesn't put myself in situations where I can't even walk straight and I'm surrounded by a bunch of dangerous people twice my size. I have people who care about me, and I have a boyfriend, which is still really new, so I just, I need to be the best version of myself, which is something I haven't been in a real long time. I used to be okay with knowing that, but now I'm not."

Georges pauses, thinking, then gently takes my hand. "The fight..."

"Yup," I nod.

"Shit," he whispers softly.

I shrug, standing up as I see our train pull in. "I don't really need to talk about it since I'm about to spend the next few months doing only that, so let's change the subject. Come on, the train in here, let's get in. I need to take another selfie."

Georges rolls his eyes, getting up and following me onto the train. We thankfully get a seat, both of us sitting next to each other and opening up our Chinese food to begin eating. I pull out my phone and put on a cheesy smile, pointing at Georges with a mouthful of food, then posting it, captioning the photo 'I wanna see what life is like in...'

"So, like, what's the point of going on this whole adventure? Like, what are we trying to achieve here?" Georges asks.

"My dad and pop have a friend they haven't seen in a while, so that's where I'm leading them to. Hopefully, they figured it out in that last selfie, because truthfully if they didn't, they'd be pretty dumb. And I know they're viewing my story, so..." I shrug, taking a bite of my food. "Fuck, this is so good. I love Chinese food."

"You are so weird," Georges laughs. "I changed my mind, Peter can have you, I can't be doing this every day. I'm gonna let him handle this since he's in better shape than me."

"Fuck, is he in shape," I groan, tilting my head back. "The boy has muscles, and fuck, I mean, he didn't hit puberty, he bit the shit out of it, beat it in basketball, football, track, and wrestling, then weight lifted while standing on it. I mean, holy fucking shit, the boy is relentless. Then there's me, who considers standing for three hours and painting to be exercise. You know how I am, though, artsy and high, a lot."

"Oh boy," Georges laughs as the train pulls to a stop. It's not our stop, but more people get on and off, still leaving no seating. I see a mother with a stroller get on, her stomach swollen to look about nine months pregnant. I'm instantly up, holding my Chinese food in my hand and gesturing for her to sit. She smiles at me and takes my seat, mumbling a small thank you.

"Phillip, you take my seat," says Georges as I lean against the bar.

I shake my head. "I've been riding the subway for years, standing for fifteen minutes is not going to kill me, I promise."

"You are literally supposed to be in a hospital right now," Georges deadpans.

The mother looks over at me with a concerned look.

"Actually Georges," I say quickly. "I'm supposed to be getting a mental evaluation right now, which I don't need since I already have a diagnosis, so really, I am physically fine. Like, all this." I gesture to my body. "Perfectly good. No need to worry. And I can eat standing up, just in case you try to pull that excuse. I've been eating standing up for my whole life."

Georges sighs, running his hand through his hair. "You are going to give me grey hairs, you know that? Grey hairs, Phillip."

"Be thankful," I laugh, my mouth full of food. "I could've had a sibling. Or worse, a twin."

"Maybe you do have a twin," Georges says, giving me an amused look. "I mean, that house you live in is easy to hide in, so maybe you have a twin, running around the house and waiting for the perfect moment to kill you so he can take your place. He's probably the nice twin too, not dragging me all over New York  _on a school day._ I can't wait to meet him."

"Oh, so he murders me and he is still the nice twin?" I say grumpily.

Georges nods. "Ten out of ten."

"Oh, I see how it is," I say, turning my nose up at him.

"You know I'm kidding," Georges laughs.

"I'm sorry, I only talk to people who like the evil twin, me, which obviously you don't," I say, still not looking at him. "And I think you're dumb because of it because that fifteen dollar plate of sweet and sour chicken in your lap has been paid for by the evil twin."

Georges laughs. "That is true. The nice twin has yet to buy me a meal. No, Phillip, what you should do is get a shirt that says 'evil twin' on it, and then when people ask you where the other one is, just get this wistful look in your eye and say 'I'm sure he's out there. Somewhere.' I would probably pay to see that."

"I feel like we're making the woman next to us regret having kids," I say softly, looking at the mom who has been trying to stifle a laugh through this conversation.

"Oh, no, not at all. In fact, I got twins in here right now, so I'm real excited to keep the evil one and then let the nice one run around my house, feral," the woman explains, patting her stomach. "Giving me good ideas."

"If you haven't decided on names, Georges is a really good one. It's French," Georges says, smiling cheekily.

I gently kick his shin. "I can't take you anywhere."

The mom just laughs as the train pulls to another stop. "Well, this is me. Have fun on your adventure."

"Thanks, ma'am," Georges smiles.

I sit back down in that spot. "Man, next stop is us. Have you ever been to Washington Heights? Like, it has your name in it. I feel like you should've have come here before. Have you? Have you ever been here, Georges?"

"Calm your ass, Jesus," Georges says.

I chuckle. "Symptom is withdrawal is racing thoughts. Ignore that."

"No, I haven't been to Washington Heights. Never knew about it really," Georges says. "I mean, I had heard your dad talk about it, but I never have visited here."

"Oh, it has the best coffee in New York," I state.

Georges raises an eyebrow. "The best? There are a million pretty good coffee shops in New York, are you sure this place is the best? Because I've had a lot of good coffee."

I nod. "Listen, you don't know good coffee because you poison it with all that gross cream and sugar. You've never even had coffee. You've had cream and sugar. This place, it makes the best pure black coffee. It got my dad through college, and it is just so, so very good. You gotta have just the coffee, black, yeah?"

"Only because you bought me a meal," Georges says grumpily.

I smile, leaning back and taking my final bite of noodles and vegetables. I only got a small order since I wasn't feeling too hungry, really just craving the taste of food that has, well, taste. Georges is making his way through his sweet and sour chicken real quick, not seeming to have trouble getting past the portion size. It makes me feel happy to see my friends eat, because I know they're taking care of themselves. So, as we pull into the station for Washington Heights, both of our empty food containers have been put in the white plastic bag to be disposed of in the nearest trash can. New York is already dirty enough, I don't need to liter.

"Hold on, I gotta take a picture," I say as we step out of the station. I take a picture of the street, captioning it 'Washington Heights.' I link arms with Georges as we walk down the rainy street, headed to the little Stop N Shop. I smile as I see the hair salon, some new employees roaming around, still gossiping. Some of them peer over at Georges and me, but I don't give it a second thought.

"So, this is Washington Heights?" Georges says.

I nod. "It's a Hispanic neighborhood, mostly made up of immigrants. Like my dad."

Georges chuckles, adjusting the umbrella a bit. "It's nice. Relaxing. I could live here."

I scoff, crossing the street to the Stop N Shop. "Alright, have fun living in a place where there is no future, even at seventeen."

"Not everyone can have their lust for travel like you," Georges says as we enter the Stop N Shop. I roam the aisles, picking out a few candy bars, then go to the front counter, where I see Usnavi, smiling and talking to Sonny.

"Phillip?" Usnavi says slowly.

"Even with my hair cut, you still knew who I am," I joke.

"I could clock a Hamilton from a mile away," Usnavi states, getting a coffee cup out for me. "I can practically sense your need for coffee. It's like a sixth sense. What are you doing around here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Oh, I'm meeting my parents here," I state.

Usnavi smiles. "Oh? Why's that?"

I shrug. "They only know where I am from my Snapchat, and they know I'm in the neighborhood, so they'll be here soon. Oh, would you like to make an appearance on my Snapchat? If not, that's totally okay but-"

Usnavi cuts me off. "No, totally."

"Me too!" Chimes Sonny.

"Georges, I need you to take a picture of the three of us," I state, handing my tall awkward friend my phone. I lean against the counter, smiling while Sonny and Usnavi lean over the counter, smiling happily as Georges snaps a picture. I take my phone back and caption it 'dad, pop, you need some coffee?' I smile, posting it, then looking back to Usnavi, who is now handing me a cup of black coffee.

"Who's your friend?" He asks.

"This is one of my best friends, Georges Washington De Lafayette," I introduce. "Known him since we were real young."

"Lafayette," Sonny mumbles slowly. "One of your dads, they a real feminine French guy? Good eyeliner and usually dressed in something that is just glittery enough for New York, and somehow perfectly designed and put together?"

Georges nods. "Yup."

"Good to see some people never change," Sonny laughs. "So, what you guys doing out of school? Shouldn't you be like, learning or some shit? Doing some school work or whatever? I mean, you guys ain't sick, so what you doing?"

"Don't tell me you never skipped school," I tease, smiling.

Sonny shakes his head.

"You're kidding," Georges says, his eyes wide.

"Straight A, honor roll, never missed a day, all under my guardianship!" Usnavi cheers. "Take that, child services! I am perfectly capable of being a parent!"

"Well, I would hope so," says a female voice. A Hispanic looking woman wearing a pair of jeans and a regular tee shirt comes down, tying up her curly dark hair. "You've practically been raising some of the kids on this street."

"Vanessa!" Usnavi says excitedly. "You remember John and Alex, you know, Hamilton's? We went to their wedding, in the Caribbean."

Vanessa nods, laughing as she comes out to the front of the counter, leaning against it next to me, listening to Usnavi. "I would hope I would remember. That was a wild wedding. This their kid?"

"This is their kid, Phillip!" Usnavi says excitedly. "Look at him. He looks almost exactly like John. You can totally see Alex in him though. Just, like, his aura."

"How are your parents? I haven't seen them in a while, been too busy with the bar down on the coast," Vanessa says, smiling at me.

I nod, smiling a bit. "They're good. Currently, they're running around New York, looking for me, but they know I'm here, so they'll show up soon."

"A trouble maker!" Vanessa laughs. "Oh man, I remember, one time, Alex came running in here, out of breath, asking us to hide him, so I put him in the freezer room, and a moment later, John comes running in, his hair glued up in one big spike, asking where Alex is. I just told him I didn't know and let him continue his search. But no, just like Alex, he loved causing trouble. He mouthed off to a cop once for harassing us, and when he looked like he was gonna do something, Alex spit out all these laws and told him that if he arrested any of us, he would be sued so fast, he couldn't read us our rights."

"Yeah, sounds like my dad," I laugh.

"Who's this?" She asks. "You got an older sibling?"

"Yeah, this is the nice twin," I joke. "No, he's just a childhood friend."

"He's that French guy's kid, you know, the one who was really good at everything and had a coffee order so complicated that gave Usnavi a heart attack?" Sonny reminisces.

"I'm sorry, my dad  _what_?" Georges says.

"Alright, so, Alex and Lafayette were hanging out," Usnavi starts. "And Alex comes up to the counter and orders his usual black coffee, and then Lafayette comes up and orders an order so long that like, I can't even process it, and I had to go into the back room for a second, take a deep breath, before kindly explaining that I could offer cream and sugar, and I also have no idea what sugar free amaretto is."

"Oh, speaking of ridiculous coffee orders," I start off. "This one promised to have black coffee so he could taste the best coffee in New York."

"One cup, coming up," Usnavi chuckles. "And I'm guessing your parents will be wanting some too?"

I nod. "Yeah, just put two more cups on the bill, and then if they want anymore, they can pay for it themselves." I pull out my wallet, then my credit card. "Yeah?"

"Alright, that and the candy bars will be seven forty-eight," he states.

I nod, scanning my card, then slipping it back in the wallet and signing the little electric thing. I shove my receipt in my pocket, thanking him as he hands me Georges' coffee. I look to Georges and pass over the coffee, feeling the anticipation.

"Man, you look like a little kid on Christmas," Georges says, gently breathing in the aroma of the coffee. "You really want me to try it?"

"Yes!" I exclaim.

"Hurry, before Phillip has a heart attack!" Sonny jokes.

Georges sighs then takes a long sip of the coffee. I watch his face as he goes from thinking, to neutral, to a 'not bad' kinda of nod, to a smile. He looks at me, taking another sip. "Okay, yeah, you were right. This is the best coffee I've ever had."

"I know right!" I say, taking a sip of mine. I look to Usnavi. "Where do you get your coffee? It's so good."

"Pro tip," Usnavi starts out. "Order it directly from either South America or Africa. I get mine from the Dominican Republic, but I've found the worst coffee I've had is American, European, or Russian. White people don't know how to do it."

"White people don't know how to do anything," Sonny mutters.

"Which is why we have a black female president," Vanessa states. "God, last time we had a white man in office, it was..."

"Terrible," Sonny finishes. "Then we got a Hispanic man, which was better, then a white woman, and now this gorgeous lady who is literally fixing us. Like yeah, racism still exists, but like, you just gotta shake it off."

"That's incorrect," Vanessa states. "No, when someone is racist, you take that racism and you shake it up with love, and then you throw it right back at them. Just mix up all that hatred with love, and throw it right back at them. Don't keep any of that negativity for yourself. Just give it right back."

"I need an example of how to do that," Georges deadpans.

"Alright, well, Usnavi and I were flying back from the Dominican Republic a few months ago, and we got laid over in an Alabama airport. We were walking around, trying to find someplace to get some food, and some white redneck yells at us, saying 'go back to your country, you fucking spics.' So like, I mean, ouch. I wasn't going to hold onto that negativity though, so I took his racism, stirred it up with love, and threw it right back at him. I said 'hola, amigo, you should go to! It's beautiful this time of year!' He had no idea what to say. That's what happens when you mix it up with love, you shock them out of their racism for a second." Vanessa smiles, crossing her arms over her chest.

"That doesn't always work though," Usnavi cuts in. "Like, yeah, if it's something like that, sure, mix it up with love and throw it right back at them. But if you're like, scared for your safety, run. Or, if you think you can do it, beat the shit out of them. Safety comes first though."

"Oh, yeah, of-"

"Phillip! Jesus Christ!" I hear my dad's voice say, cutting Sonny off. He and my pop instantly scoop me up, thankfully after I set my coffee down though. They both hug me, scolding me for running off and telling me they love me, but also do not appreciate the goose chase I sent them on. I'm suffocating a little bit, but overall just fine.

"Alright, I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry," I chuckle, prying myself from their arms.

"Phillip, you left the  _hospital_ in blood covered clothes and then you just, like, don't answer  _anyone's_ texts, and then you're at school, and then the house, and then you're at a Chinese restaurant, and then you're on a train, and now you're here! Why did you run off like that?" My pop rants, looking me up and down.

"Wait, you came from the  _hospital_?" Usnavi asks.

I groan. "I was all cooped up and it was overwhelming, and I wanted real food. So, I ditched, got Georges, got changed, got some food, and then came here for the best coffee in New York. Also, say hi to your friends. Vanessa taught me about taking racism, mixing it with love, and throwing it right back at people."

My dad looks up, scanning the three people who are looking back at him, smiling. Slowly, a smile creeps over his face. "God, when did you all get so old?"

Usnavi laughs, hopping over the counter and pulling my dad into a hug. "Look who's talking, Hamilton. Is that grey hair I see? Yeah, those are some grey hairs I see. And look at those smile lines, life has obviously treated you well, my friend."

"Don't even!" My dad laughs. "You can talk when you don't look like Mr. Salt And Pepper. And what is that handlebar mustache? The Usnavi I knew would never."

"Hey, Vanessa," my pop says, smiling and embracing the woman. "It's been way too long. You look good, girl. Tan."

"Oh, we got back from the big DR a few weeks back, and the dull New York rain hasn't washed off my tan yet. I'm still basking in my beach glow. You look like the only sun you've gotten in the past few years is the New York sun," she teases.

"We're long overdue for a good Nevis trip," my dad laughs, his arm around Usnavi's shoulders. "I haven't had a vacation in, God, it's been a while."

"You and me both," my pop states.

"I would also love to go on a vacation!" I point out. "I wanna go to Rio!"

"Alright, we're gonna go to Nevis, then Rio," My dad chuckles. "No, how's the bar? It must be doing pretty well, even now."

"Oh, we close it down from October to March, since no one really comes to the beach around that time anyway," Vanessa explains. "It's so successful that we have more than enough to last us through the winter months in New York, still paying for the Stop N Shop here as well. Sonny refuses to get another job, claiming he likes the neighborhood too much to leave."

Sonny holds up his hands. "This is my home. And I like watching over the kids. I hope to be the abuelo of this bodega one day, take care of everyone."

"Missing inventory comes out of his paycheck," Usnavi laughs.

Sonny waves it off. "Worth it every time."

"Alright, we need to plan a dinner, a get-together, something. Like, we can't go this long without seeing each other again," John states.

Usnavi nods. "Hell yeah, I missed you guys. Here, do you have Vanessa's new number? She lost all her contacts last year and she's the one you want to talk to if you want to make plans. I have my phone on me once in a blue moon, but she basically runs the business, takes down dictatorships, and stops climate change from her phone, so let's get you her number. She knows what she's doing."

"Yes, also this one has the memory of a dog, and will honestly forget he ever made plans with anyone five minutes after he does it, while I set reminders for the day before, and the day of," Vanessa states. "Gotta keep him organized."

"Oh, yeah, John does that for me," my dad laughs. "I used to be so disorganized, paper everywhere, my office just, just a mess, and then John set it up in a way that was easy to organize, and very pleasing to look at."

"I swear, they could be related," Vanessa chuckles, handing her phone to my pop so he can put his number in. "You two would've gotten into so much trouble if you had known each other as kids."

"Oh my god, we would've been terrors," Usnavi whispers, looking at my dad.

"We really would have," my dad agrees.

"God, as much as I hate to cut this reunion short, our son should actually be in the hospital right now." My pop shoots me a look. "So we should probably take off."

"Psh, he's fine," my dad says, waving his hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I chuckle, leaning against Georges.

"Alexander," my pop says in a tone that isn't angry but more like 'if you don't get on my side in two seconds, Phillip isn't going to be the only one going to that hospital.'

My dad clears his throat. "Phillip, he's right. You should get back to the hospital and Georges should get home. You had your fun, went out, ate some real food, but now it's time to go back. Just one more night, kid. I'll order pizza and we can watch The Night Shift on Netflix until three in the morning."

I frown, looking at him for a second, knowing he was almost on my side, then let out a quick shot of air through my nose. "Alright, let's go. Though, I did buy you two coffee."

"I got it," Sonny laughs, filling up two cups. One he fills with just black coffee, giving it to my very happy dad, and then the other he fills partially with coffee, then pulls out a coconut milk creamer, filling up the rest of the cup. "We don't get much gentrification here, but sometimes the occasional vegan white hipster will come through, so we keep it in stock."

My pop smiles, sipping the coffee. "Just as good as I remember. I really would love to stay longer, but I believe this kid had an IV he's supposed to be connected to."

I roll my eyes. "You're being dramatic." I smile, hugging Usnavi. "It was nice seeing you again." I hug Vanessa and Sonny as well, telling them it was nice hanging out for a bit. I wave goodbye one last time after my parents say goodbye and Georges offers an awkward wave, then the four of us walk out of the Stop N Shop. I don't pay much attention to the rain and I skip down the street, a bit ahead of everyone. Little droplets land on the lens of my glasses, and when I enter the subway, they get all foggy, but I easily wipe them off, watching as my parents and Georges comes down.

"Alright, we're taking the E4 train," my dad announces. "God, I haven't taken E4 since college. Last time I was on the E4 train, I vomited vodka, Adderall, and nacho's in the trash can, then passed out in Lafayette's lap."

"I mean, worm, but why?" I say, looking at him as I shake water off my beanie.

"Once you are a graduating college student, just finishing up six years of college that you worked non stop through, you will understand," my dad states wistfully.

"I picked him up from a Starbucks on thirty-fourth street that night, then nursed his hangover for the next two days. Moral of the story, don't do drugs with your immigrant friends on graduation night without supervision," my pop states.

"Your right, we can only do drugs unsupervised with non-immigrants," I say, watching the train pull up. I skip on, holding onto a bar as more people file in. My parents stand on either side of me, holding onto me as if I might fall, while Georges stands across from us, reaching up and holding onto the bar above our heads. I used to get really freaked out by the idea of germs on the subway, always having hand sanitizer and tissues on me. Finally, though, I decided that the more I protected my immune system from germs, the more likely it was I was gonna get sick, so I just said fuck it and stopped giving a damn.

We get off at our stop and I hug Georges goodbye, then get into the backseat of my dad's car. My pop gets into the drivers and my dad gets in the passenger seat, turning on the radio and fussing with it while my pop drives. It's quiet for a bit, but not in an awkward way. Sometimes this family just has silent car rides. Sometimes we just a moment to just be with each other, no conversation needed.

"So, you and Georges are friends again?" My dad asks slowly.

"We were never not friends," I state, shrugging as I stare out the window at the New York traffic, for one being thankful for the horribly slow pace. The traffic here has always made me feel impatient, but as the hospital nears, I find myself smiling as the taxi cab in front of us slows down to an even more unreasonable pace.

"Fucking asshole," my dad mutters as someone from behind honks at us. He then sticks his head out the window. "Hey! This is New York! Go to Jersey if you wanna drive fast!"

"Jersey is barely faster," my pop sighs, not seeming to mind the traffic either.

"At least it'll get that prick face out of New York," my dad shoots back grumpily. "But no, Phillip, you're just that quick to forgive him? Did the shit he say hurt?"

I shrug. "I punched him in the jaw. Besides, ninety-nine percent of the world is made up of asshole people who say the wrong things. I have my share of the one percent, taking me to spa days and whatnot, and then I have all of you, who I love, for your vices and your virtues. Expecting Georges to be a perfect person is not something I am going to do. I am not perfect, and I've said and done plenty of things that hurt the people around me. So has everyone else. We either accept the imperfections in the world or we die alone."

"Okay, but he called you a whore," my pop states.

"Please, he's just jealous because he's still a virgin," I scoff.

My dad snorts. "That was so much information I didn't need to know but yet I'm glad I do because that was the best thing I've heard all day."

I roll my eyes. "You know, I don't have to go and die like a cattle. I could change my name and ride up to Seattle."

"You don't own a motorbike," my pop sings lightly.

"Wait," I say, a smirk spreading over my lips. "Here's an option that I like. Spend these thirty hours getting-"

"A mental evaluation so we know what the deal is," my dad states, cutting me off.

"I don't see why I need one!" I exclaim. "I can  _tell_ you what's wrong! I'm very very sad and need some therapy! There, can I leave the stupid hospital and go to my padded room now? Can I get my straight jacket? I wanna see if they come in different colors."

"That's not funny, Phillip," my dad says quietly.

That shuts me up real quick.

"We're not going to put you in a straight jacket and send you to a padded room to live out your days," my pop explains. "We don't think you're crazy. You need a specific amount of help right now, kid."

"Why can't I just stay with you guys and go to therapy?" I ask.

"Because, because we don't know if you'll try something like this again," my dad states. "You're alone at the house a lot. A lot of days, you get home before us. You go places and sometimes, we don't know where you are, and we trusted you to be safe for a long time, but now we find out you're mixed up with older guys who are taking advantage of you, and you're shooting up heroin, and you had been doing pills? Phillip, you know we don't want to send you anywhere. You know we'd be fine with just curling up on the couch until our problems disappear, but we can't do that. We can't be good parents and not get you the help you need. Phillip, we love you so much, and that helps us admit that we can't do this on our own. You are going to thrive so much in life. You are going to do such amazing things and blow us all away. I know you are."

"Things are going to get better," my pop insists. "And you won't be gone for long. We talked to Eliza, and she says there's a great place in New York, and after your doctor says it's okay, you can get visited, maybe go out on day trips, and then you're going to improve on your mental health and talk about things, and all that stuff."

I groan. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," both my dad and pop say at the same time.

I sigh, looking down, then back up. "You promise you'll call and shit? Visit? Sneak me candy and tacos?"

My pop laughs. "Of course we will, Phillip. We're not abandoning you, we're just making sure you are okay. Yeah? And you should be out by summer, from what I've talked about with your doctor and nurse."

"We're going to be with you, every step of the way. We're going to be involved, and we're not going to let you get hurt anymore, yeah?" My dad looks back at me.

I look down, smiling and nodding. "Yeah."


	39. Alex is the KING of bad decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter :)

 

/Alex/

I sit in my office, trying to kill ten minutes until I get John's 'I'm out front' text. My pen taps against my desk lightly as I stare out the window, watching the sunshine on the city streets below me. Music plays through my earbuds and my lunch sits half touched on my desk, the sandwich john made me take only half eaten on account of my lack of attention. My back aches a bit because I've really been working to get everything done by three, since today, we're going to pick Phillip up.

Phillip got admitted to the psych hospital about four and a half months ago, early February. Granted, even after that conversation in the car, some more convincing at the hospital, Eliza coming in and explaining exactly what will be happening, and even an employee who is a friend of Eliza's coming down and talking about the place, it was still a bit of a struggle to get Phillip there. He tried to pull another goose chase but after the first one, the doctor told the front desk to not let him leave if he wasn't with either John or I. I must say, it was a bit entertaining to see Phillip in a chair with a big black nurse telling him about how worried he would've made us, lecturing him so we don't have to.

We pulled him out of school since the psych hospital told us he could do it online. He was very clear about still wanting to take all the classes he had been, the AP classes especially. He said he didn't want this to ruin any chances of going to Amsterdam university, but he was assured by the employee Eliza brought in that he would be taking all the classes he was taking. I felt a bit relieved about that, since I know his education is important to him, and hell, it's important to me too.

He kinda flourished in the hospital. I mean, it took a couple of weeks to get comfortable, and us bringing him like, three empty sketchbooks via request, but he actually made some serious progress in his mental health and wellbeing. We visited every Wednesday, since parents are usually the only ones who are always permitted to visit, and we talked to his doctor every Wednesday. Visiting Phillip was nice because we would always have a lot to talk about, always play a board game or something. Sometimes we wouldn't talk though if Phillip was having an off day. We would just sit with him, let him draw, while John drew with him and I wrote. Those were the days John and I stayed until visiting hours ended, just so he knew we were there.

The first few weeks Phillip was in the hospital were pretty bad. He was withdrawing, realizing a lot of things that happened, breaking down a lot. He stopped eating for a bit, and doctors had to bring IVs into his room and call in someone to coax him to eat again. He dropped weight rapidly in those first few weeks, already being too skinny. He couldn't talk a lot, wasn't really communicating with his therapist. He made no attempt to open his stitches or anything, but the not eating was enough for doctors to make him a top priority. For a while, it felt like every time we saw him, there was less and less of him to see. Then something changed.

After visits that consisted of few words, mostly us sitting with him, we came in, and he was smiling, which was something we hadn't seen in a while. He was still hooked up to an IV, his hands still shook whenever he moved them, cheekbones jutted out and bags were quite obvious, but he was smiling. John and I didn't really know what to make of it. Then, he asked us if he could show us some origami a girl taught him, so that's what we did for about four hours. We made cranes, irises, butterflies, fish. Phillip didn't talk as much as we knew he could, but he did talk about the girl who taught him origami. He told us that her name was Georgia, though she was born in Texas. He told us that they started talking because they both hated the show Friends and it was on. He told us that she was nice, but most importantly, he smiled. He was actually smiling that whole visit. I broke down in the car ride home.

Things started to inch their way into improvement after that. He started talking to his therapist more, eating, talking in general. We came to visit and he had art hanging up, given to him from some other patients after he gave them some art. He started smiling more, talking to us more. We watched his face fill out, his bags go away, his cheeks get their usual color back. I think that made both John and I happier because people started noticing that as Phillip got happier, we got happier too. Like, I was at work once, at work, just getting coffee, humming, and Lafayette mentioned that I seemed like I was in a good mood, and I looked at him and said 'Phillip is officially a healthy weight.' It made me feel happy to see that my son was getting better.

Phillip still had bad days, even as he got better. There would still be days where he couldn't find the motivation to get out of bed. He would be distant in therapy, he would be quiet. His doctor told us that he had clinical depression, and would probably have bad days for the rest of his life, but could be started on medication if he wanted. We asked Phillip about it, knowing that he was the most important person in this decision. At first, he said he didn't really like the idea of it, something about Picasso or whatever, but a few weeks later he brought it up again, saying he'd like to try it, see what it's like. So, now he takes Prozac.

Other people were cleared for visiting about two months after Phillip got admitted. You had to call and schedule a visit, get approved by not only Phillip, but his therapist too, and then come for visiting hours, so of course, Theo was the first person down there. Since she and Phillip had never really had a real altercation, and she was his best friend, doctors found it easy to let her in and let her see Phillip. She started visiting him every Saturday, and we would pick her up, as long as she told us how she thought he was doing. Theo was very kind to Phillip from what he heard from Phillip himself. On his bad days, she could lie with him, let him draw little stars and planets on her patches of vitiligo, sing softly to him. On his good days, the two of them would talk for hours, even as Theo was leaving. Doctors would usually have to come in and tell her that visiting hours were over, and then wait until she left to really be sure. John and I always found it funny when she walked out of the building, escorted by security or a doctor.

The next person who got cleared was Peggy. After what happened, she came back, said she wasn't leaving until Phillip was out of the psych hospital and doing better. She stayed true to that, going back to the old penthouse she lived in with her sisters in college. She never really got used to living rich again though, and oftentimes she would spend her day, wandering around New York with no shoes and no money, earning her a few trips to the hospital to get stitches.

She was very happy that she got cleared to see Phillip. I don't think I had ever seen the girl with clean clothes, clean hair, and shoes all at once, but here she was, sitting next to me in the car since she didn't have one, a white tee shirt and some blue jeans, as well as black sneakers. It was a little weird to see her look so, well, normal, but she told me that she didn't want to seem like the crazy unstable homeless aunt in a psych hospital. She stayed for as long as she could, talking to Phillip, doing art with him, talking about France and his schooling. She said she had been in touch with the Dean of this really good school that not only could offer Phillip all the classes he needed, but also some really good art classes, photography classes, and writing classes, which Phillip was ecstatic about.

Peter was cleared after Peggy. John and I had been driving everyone to see Phillip, to and from since we wanted updates on how he was doing, so we always drove Peter to see Phillip. The first time he went, he was very obviously nervous. When asked why, he said that he didn't know if he should, seeing that he was only a boyfriend. I then explained to Peter that Phillip talked about him for at least an hour every time we saw him, and really did miss him. That obviously made Peter feel better, bringing a smile to his lips.

Peter and Phillip talked for hours. Phillip told us all about it the next time he saw us. He said that he and Peter just sat there, holding hands, talking about the date they really need to go on, talking about school, family stuff, sports, friends, and anything else. Phillip said he was so happy to see Peter, and every time Peter came to visit Phillip, which was about once or twice a week, Phillip could barely contain himself from how happy he was.

Georges didn't visit Phillip, but he and Phillip had agreed on that, thinking it was best if they took a bit of a break. I was a bit happier about that, still mad at Georges for what he said, but I didn't express that to Phillip Only said that as long as he thought it was best, I would support it. I talked to his doctor about it, and his doctor even agreed that it was best, but told us that we needed to make sure Phillip knew this was his decision, and he was taking charge of his life. His doctor explained to us that one of the things it seemed like Phillip felt he had the least of was control. After what happened with George Eaker, who is safely behind bars thanks to the fact that six of the best lawyers in New York had something against him, Phillip talked about not having control over anything in his life, which was kinda a motivator for what he did. John and I get that, and we've planned out with his doctor things to have that gives him a sense of control and tranquility. One of those things was a therapy dog.

Doctors said they were going to start evaluating Phillip for release about three weeks ago. They could only tell us, since telling a patient can be risky, but John and I were ecstatic. We felt good, happy, and hopeful. Phillip had been doing so much better. Over the course of four months, not only had he been learned how to cope, talked about what has been going on, came clean to us about everything from that night, and started taking real steps to becoming a better, healthier person, but he also learned how to quilt, knit, do origami, and do a backflip. So, really, that's just all very exciting.

Things have been going well with John and me too. Firstly, we did totally gut that bathroom, change it up entirely. We basically dropped Phillip off at the psych hospital, went to Home Depot and bought a bunch of stuff, and then started changing it up. We have a walk in shower now, real stone tiling, a cool new sink, calm grey walls, and new lighting. The bathroom looks totally different, thanks to the help we got from Washington, Hercules, and Jefferson, so that's something new that Phillip may not be expecting.

We continued to go to couples therapy, talked about Phillip, about life, about working on things. We fought a couple of times while Phillip was gone, but it was usually brought on by stress and ended with both of us sitting on the couch and calmly talking things over, then maybe crying at one point. I have yet to be banished back to my office, and we have yet to divorce, so things are looking good. We're both just trying to, you know, manage. We've spent a lot of nights sitting at the kitchen counter and talking about important things, such as our child, some of the bills, and stuff like that. I must admit, in the beginning, we were a little tight on money, between hospital bills, psych hospital bills, our house payments, but then Washington took care of the hospital bills, gave me my raise a few months early, and made sure we were doing okay.

Today, John is picking me up so we can go pick Phillip up together. First, he's picking up the most ridiculous dog I've ever seen. Phillip's doctor was pretty open about the fact that Phillip needed a therapy dog. He said Phillip needed something that was there for him even when he was alone in his room, that would comfort him in public and could sense Phillip was sad. He wrote us a note and told us where to go to get one. John and I know Phillip's type in dogs. He likes medium fluffy dogs, so we kept that in mind. One of the reasons we chose Sam was that the moment I saw him, I couldn't stop laughing. He's a German Shepard poodle mix, and he looks fucking hilarious. He has blonde and grey fur, long, but not as curly as poodle hair. He has a bit of an underbite, and he's just the most flopsy mopsy thing I've ever seen. He came up to me and I just started laughing, sitting down and running my hands over the dog's head and laughing my ass off. Tears were actually rolling down my cheeks as I looked at this dog. He was so happy though, super cuddly. It was quite obvious he was perfect. It also helped that he was named after Phillip's favorite character, Sam the piano player, in Phillip's favorite movie, Casablanca.

"Hamilton, we got a meeting," says an annoyingly familiar voice.

"No, you have a meeting, I'm waiting for my husband," I state, looking at Monroe.

"Washington said he needed to see everyone," Monroe chuckles as if he's won some sort of contest about knowing more than me, even though I clearly told Washington that I would be leaving around this time to pick up my child who's been in a hospital for four months.

"Well, if Washington asks where I am, you can tell him I'm at his mom's house, getting my dick sucked," I state, knowing that'll get a laugh from Washington when Monroe undoubtedly tells him I said that.

"He's not going to give you ask excused absence for whatever family bullshit you have going on, so you need to go to the conference room," Monroe spits.

I stare him down for a second, feeling my eyes narrow, and then I do the stupidest thing I've ever done in my entire life. Well, scratch that. I've done a lot of really stupid things, despite how smart I am, and this probably isn't the stupidest, but it is one of the stupidest. It's in the top ten, no doubt, but not the top five.

"Oh my god!" Monroe yells as I bring my knife like letter opener into my arm.

"Well now I have to go to the hospital, Monroe," I snap, with no intent on going into the hospital. The letter opener is about an inch into the skin below my elbow, where the sleeves of my white dress shirt have been rolled up to. It's just stabbing into arm fat and muscle, which heals, but still hurts like a motherfucker. I'm holding back a look of pain, knowing that if Monroe can't see how much this hurts, then it's just that much more satisfying.

"Jesus Christ," Lafayette mutters, looking into my office. "You're so dumb."

"Yeah yeah," I laugh. "Can you fix this? John's gonna be here in about ten minutes."

"What the fuck?" Monroe says loudly, drawing both our attention. "He just stabbed himself in the fucking arm!"

"Go to the meeting," Lafayette says. "Tell Washington I'll be late."

Monroe rushes off and Lafayette steps into my office, sighing tiredly. He pulls my never used first aid kid off my shelf, then finds my lighter in my drawer, and an old spoon I used to eat yogurt with. He puts hand sanitizer on the spoon, wiping it off with a tissue, and then holds it to the light, heating up the bottom.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm gonna cauterize the wound so you don't bleed all over your carpet, then I'm gonna put butterfly stitches on it, then wrap it up. This is going to hurt," Lafayette explains.

"Will it hurt more than the letter opener in my arm?" I question, looking at the thing that is still there, bringing a dull throbbing to my arm.

"Burns are what I like to call 'spicy pain.' Like, getting bruised or something is just salty, getting scratched or cut or stabbed is sour, and getting burnt is spicy," Lafayette tells me.

"God, I love immigrants," I chuckle.

"Alright, three, two-" Lafayette removes the knife and presses the bottom of the spoon to my arm, causing me to cry out, gripping the armrest of my chair with white knuckles. He pulls the spoon away, puts antibacterial cream on the stab wound and now burn, applies two butterfly stitches, places gauze over it, and then wraps it up with ace bandage. He's quick, me barely processing everything he's doing. I don't know why he became a lawyer when he would obviously make an amazing doctor.

"John is not going to like that you did this," Lafayette points out, shrugging as he cuts the bandage so he can hold it in place.

I smile. "Yeah, but guess what?"

Lafayette looks up at me, his lips curved upward. "What?"

I put my hand on his shoulder, almost laughing with joy. "We get to pick up Phillip today. He's coming home. To stay. I mean, of course, he's still going to go to therapy, and of course, there's still work to be done and we still need to make sure that he's adjusting and that he's stable, but we get to pick him up today."

Lafayette pulls me into a hug. "It has been a long ride, mon amour, but things are truly better for you now."

I hug him back tightly. "I'm just so happy to see my son."

Lafayette pulls away, smiling. "He is happy to see you."

My phone buzzes and I instantly grab at it since I've been waiting for John's text for the last twenty minutes. I type in my passcode and go to messages, seeing John tell me he's out front. I bid a quick goodbye to Lafayette, grabbing my briefcase and practically sprinting down the steps and to the parking lot. I see John's car and practically jump into the passenger seat, leaning over to kiss him. John kisses back happily, his hand going to the back of my neck until a small bark breaks us apart. I grumpily look in the backseat, seeing Sam happily wagging his tail. He leans forward and plants a wet kiss on my cheek.

"You're just jealous because you don't have any balls," I point out, buckling my seatbelt as John begins driving.

"We haven't had a dog in years," John says, chuckling.

"I don't know why we never got another one," I start. "I mean, dogs are great. Way better than cats. Phillip is probably gonna take this one with him when he goes to college or whatever, so we should get another dog when he does. We could get multiple, name them after some weird evidence I've seen. Breadbox, embroidered jacket, a cement mixer."

John laughs. "I like the idea of getting another dog or a couple of dogs after Phillip leaves, but I'm not naming any of them cement mixer. Do you think Phillip will like Sam? Maybe we should've let him pick the dog out, I don't know."

I roll my eyes. "Have you  _seen_ Sam? The dog is like, ridiculously funny looking, super sweet, and obviously wanting to cuddle someone back there. I think Phillip is going to like him just fine, John."

"A dog is a lot of responsibility," John points out.

"Which means Phillip will have to make a schedule to know when to walk and feed Sammy. We also have a backyard where he can run around in and a son who can walk him. This is gonna provide some stability for Phillip, I think. And remember how we told him he can always use us as an excuse to get out of somewhere? Now he can use his dog," I explain. "And you remember how much Phillip loved Peanut."

John smiles. "Peanut was a good dog."

"So is Sam," I insist. "John, don't worry, everything is going to be okay."

He looks over at me, and is about to say something, but then his eyes widen and his jaw drops. "What the fuck happened to your arm?"

I laugh, a bit nervously, running my hand over the bandage. "Well, funny story. You see, Monroe wasn't leaving me alone and I was getting pissed off at him and I really just wanted him to leave my office, and you know he doesn't like blood or anything, so I kinda, sort of, you know, stabbed myself in the arm with the letter opener to get him to leave. But don't worry, it's totally okay because Lafayette cauterized it with a spoon and put some butterfly stitches on it, so it's totally fine and nothing to worry about at all."

"If Phillip asks what happened, you tell him you fell and cut your arm open while we were redoing the bathroom, finishing it up," John sighs. "We want to encourage  _not_ hurting yourself when you don't like something to our child, instead of the opposite. Look, I know you wouldn't be totally happy if you found out Phillip stapled his hand to get out of school work, but you have to remember that he looks up to you, and he is a lot like you. You need to stop this, find a better way to get rid of him, because of this." John waves his hand in my direction, very vaguely might I add. "We can't let this fly anymore. We can't teach him that this is okay anymore."

I sigh, biting my lip. "You're right. I'm sorry."

John gently reaches over and takes my hand. "I know you're sorry, it's okay. Just, please don't do this anymore. While I did mean everything I said, I also really don't like it when you get hurt. It makes me feel sad."

I gently bring his hand up to my lips, kissing his knuckles. "Alright, I won't do that anymore. I'll just, like, God, I dunno, how do I get rid of him?"

"Air horn, spray bottle, asking him if he wants to have sex," John lists.

"You're right!" I cheer. "If I ask him if he wants to have sex, not only would be so repulsed by the idea of my body, but he would also maybe stop talking to me for the rest of my life! It's perfect! Air horn just in case, though."

"Who is repulsed by the idea of your body?" John asks, giving me an odd look.

"Well, for starters, me," I state, finger gunning.

"You are the human version of a headache, I love you," John says, sighing and squeezing my hand as he pulls into another lane.

"I love you too," I state, cheekily smiling. The smile disappears when someone cuts him off, then begins driving way slower than traffic, causing everyone behind us to slow down, and causing the cars in front of us, besides the one that cut us off, to get farther ahead and leave a large gap. I prompt stick my head out the window. "Hey! Jennifer Slopez! Get the fuck out of the road if you're going to drive like my mother-in-law on Xanax!"

"Alex, calm down," John says.

I lean over and honk on the horn, earning my hand a smack from John. "What? This asshole just cut you off and is now going half your speed."

John turns off his blinker, going into the other lane and passing the guy. "Which is why I'm doing this. Also, my mom never drove too slow, no matter what she was on, where are you getting your information from? What are your sources?"

"It was the first thing that came to my head, you know I love your mom. Though, I haven't really talked to her in a while. Probably for her own reasons. Is she still mad at me?" I ask, remembering how John's mom very clearly shunned me after the pamphlet came out. I totally understood for a while, but now that things are better, I'm beginning to not see her reasoning on being mad. Like, I get it, I hurt John, but I'm doing everything I can right now to make things better, and John and I are getting better.

"She's, she's coming around to the idea of maybe thinking about talking to you again," John says, running his tongue over his teeth to punctuate his sentence.

I groan. "I miss her cooking. It's the only cooking I've ever had that's better than yours, and she makes good Carribean food."

"Hey," John says lightly. "She'll come around. Just give her time."

"She can take her time, at least I got you," I state, smiling at him.

He lets out a small chuckle and leans back, squeezing my hand. "You know, the more couples therapy we go to, the more I realize we should've been going long before you cheated on me. Like, I love you very much and there is absolutely no one I would rather be with, excluding a young Spike Lee, but since we were each other's first relationship, we definitely have not been the best at things. We had no one to learn from."

I shrug, nodding. "I mean, you aren't wrong. I think we're really wearing Dr. Jamison out though. I feel like we should tip her or something, you know?"

John laughs. "I don't think you can tip therapists."

"Okay, then I'm gonna shove some hundred dollar bills under her chair cushion next time she goes to the bathroom for a nice surprise," I state, easily overcoming that problem.

"You are such a mess," John groans, smiling as he begins to get closer to the hospital. "You know, I think we should like, let Phillip redecorate or redo his wardrobe or something. He and his doctor talked a lot about really needing to change things up, which is one of the reasons I think France is going to be a really good idea."

I nod. "You're right. I'm gonna miss Phillip when he's in France though."

"Hey, it's just like, less than the amount of time he's been at the hospital, and he can't get rid of us that easily. We'll come up for a few days every month, see him, and then visit for Thanksgiving and come down for Christmas break and stuff," John reassures me. "And I totally know you miss France. You still talk in French as if it's your first language."

"It's my second language," I laugh. "Spanish is my first, and English is my third, but of  _course_ English is the only language I can talk in America! Do you know how many jokes I've given up because they're in French or Spanish? How many words I've forgotten in English but known in French and Spanish? I've been speaking English since I was twelve and I still am not a master! The other day, I was in a meeting and I forgot a word but I knew it in French, so I told Lafayette, and he didn't know the word, so we called Hercules and he didn't know what the word I was saying meant, so we called Thomas into the meeting, and he had to tell us. English is so dumb, John. It's the worst language out of all the languages!"

"Bullshit!" John says. "English doesn't use eight hundred vowels like French!"

"Well, Spanish doesn't have fucking silent letters!" I argue. "English has like a 'z' in the word rock, while Spanish actually cares about its speakers. You are just weak and can't handle the idea that language can be easy for you."

"English is not that hard," John says.

"Chico perra que habla inglés," I mutter angrily.

"Hey! I know Spanish too! What was that for?" John asks.

"You have never had to learn English. Like yeah, when you were a baby and shit, you grew up learning English, but when you know two languages, have at least two words for everything, then are told you need to learn a whole ass another language to be accepted? That shit gets hard," I explain. "You met me when I was at about seventy-five percent capacity of English, and meanwhile, I could speak hours of poetry in French and Spanish. All through high school English was the one class I struggled in, though I also hated History, I could never say 'I got a C? Do you know how smart I am in French?' I don't think I actually mastered English until I was, oh, I don't know, seventeen. English is fucking difficult, so I don't want to hear no 'English is not that hard' bullshit, or I'll curse your ass out in the two other languages I know."

"Damn, shit, I uh, I didn't know that. Is English really that hard to learn?" John asks, looking over at me. "You never really talked about it, just got frustrated sometimes, so I thought it was just you forgetting a word."

I nod. "No, the thing about English is, you guys have weird spellings for weird words and eight words that sound the same and all have different spelling, and then when words like through, though, thought, and thorough come into play? John, those are all the same word! There, their, they're, ate, eight, read, read, whether, weather, led, lead, where, wear, were! What the fuck is the English language? It's like, like, like the creator just did so much crack and then decided how things work!"

John pauses, thinking for a second, then chuckles. "You know, you make good points. I say we cancel English."

"Please!" I beg. "Or we could just, like, move out of the country. Leave America."

John looks over at me. "For real?"

I shrug. "Like, not when Phillip is with us, but maybe, maybe we don't stay in New York year-round, buy a house down in Nevis or something, spend summers there, and when we retire, spend winters there and come back to New York for the summer. I dunno, I mean, I would never want to leave New York permanently, because like, this place is my home. I've never lived anywhere longer. But like, you know, maybe we spend a bit more time in Nevis or South America in general. Maybe go back to that nude beach, get a little too stoned for people our age, come home and try that thing you've been wanting to do. Come on, think about how good it'll feel to have pressed up against you, sweating on those hot Caribbean nights while all these poor saps suffer the New York smog and heat."

"Are you seducing me into buying a summer house?" John asks.

"Is it working?" I say hopefully.

John sighs, smiling and shaking his head. " _After_ Phillip leaves the house, if we have a summer home to go to in the Caribbean, then I will not feel bad for leaving and spending my summer on a beach with you in my lap."

"You think we should renew our vows on our twentieth?" I ask. "Like, I dunno, invite people down, renew our vows, all that funky stuff."

"Sure, but we're not planning a big thing. We can do it on the beach and wear shorts and short sleeve button ups, but I swear to god, I'm not doing our whole ass wedding again. I loved it, but until I saw you walking down that aisle, I felt like I was going to die from stress." John laughs, leaning back. "Legit, my knees were so fucking weak and then I saw you and it's like, nothing could've moved me."

"You cried like a  _baby_ while saying our vows," I laugh, teasing him gently.

"Okay listen, I made it through our vows with only a few tears shed, and then you started reading yours, and I lost it. It's your fault for being so eloquent," John defends.

"I believe you held it together until I said 'I shall only tell you that until you bade us adieu, and then you started crying causing Lafayette to hand you a kerchief," I chuckle.

John sighs. "Say your vows again. I'm forgetting how lovely they are and I know you remember them."

I chuckle, kissing his hand. "Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words to convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that 'til you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent of the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it,and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have artfully instilled into me."

Smiling dreamily, John leans back, squeezing my hand. "Everything's coming together again, Alex. Things are gonna be okay, right? Things are going to work out, and get better, right? They aren't going to crash and burn like this again, yeah?"

I nod. "Yeah."

John pulls into the hospital parking lot and I'm out of the car before it even comes to a full stop, bouncing up and down, eager to get inside. John gets out, happily taking my hand and walking in with me, very happy too. I'm humming, standing in line to get to the front desk, barely capable of containing my joy. John has to gently place his hand on my arm to remind me that we are still in a place where kids who try to kill themselves go. It's hard for me to control the smile on my face though, twisting the ring on my middle finger, the one with Phillip's birthday and initials engraved on it. John has one too. We got them after what happened, just something to have Phillip with us, even though he wasn't there.

"Hello, how can we help you?" A lady says, smiling at us.

"Alexander and Johnathan Hamilton here to pick up Phillip Hamilton," I say, my eyes lighting up as I pull out my special pen from my pocket. I only use it on rare occasions, and I figured this would be one of those occasions.

"Alright, we need you to sign here, and then go up to his room to help him get his bags," she says, smiling brightly as she hands a clipboard with a paper on it to me. I sign my name, then hand it to John to let him sign his, then we hand it back to her. She speaks into a phone, telling someone that we're going up, and then sends us through the door to the elevator. Phillip is on the second floor, room 1801. I'm practically skipping down the hall, pulling on John's arm and dragging him towards the room.

"Hey!" I say happily, opening the door and immediately spotting Phillip. He's in his grey sweatpants, a white tee shirt he cropped himself and cut the sleeves off of. His body looks filled out, his weight happily resting at one hundred and fifty-five pounds, back where it was before. His face is filled out, his eyes are lighting up, and his entire aura just looks happier. He looks the way he did before any of this happened.

Phillip jumps down from the bed where he was taking down some art he built quite a collection of, then runs over and hugs us. John and I happily embrace our son, the three of us standing there for a little bit, being thankful that this is the last time we'll ever have to hang out in this god awful grey and white room.

"I'm sorry I'm not quite done packing up," He says, running his hand through his now bob length hair which he's been growing out. "I was gonna get started right after breakfast, but then I got challenged to the last day round of Mario Kart, and you know I had to do that, and then I just, I had people I needed to say goodbye to."

John shakes his head. "No, don't worry about it. We're not in any rush. Do you need any help? With clothes or anything?"

"Yes, I do. I haven't packed any of my clothes. They're just over there, in the dresser. Mostly sweatpants and hoodies and tee shirts, one pair of jeans I think. Could you pack those? That would be a big help."

"Absolutely no problem," I say, opening up Phillip's big duffle bag and the dresser drawers, folding clothes. John has very good precision, folding the clothes like he learned when he worked at Target all through high school. I sort of just, fold them in half, then in half again, and then put them in the bag.

"This is why you got fired from Old Navy," John states, referring to a job I had for about four days over Christmas break in my second year of college.

"This is why no one lets you near their clean laundry," I shoot back easily, watching John fold with such artistic skill.

"People literally hide their coffee makers when you come over," John says. "So don't even try to come at me on this, I win by so much."

"God, I forgot I'll have to listen to all this lovey-dovey crap," Phillip scoffs, coming down from his bed with a bunch of papers in his hand. "Maybe I can get readmitted."

"Ha, ha," I say sarcastically.

Phillip smiles cheekily, putting the art in a folder. "You missed me. You couldn't go on without my constant smart ass comments. Face it, I'm the comedic relief you need in your lives. WIthout me, everything would be boring."

"Damn right it would," John nods. "I don't understand assholes who complain about their kids. Like yeah, children are a lot of work, but you're super cool, Phillip. You're like, fun to hang out with. You know we love you."

"I do, I do," Phillip says, laughing. He puts the folder in the bag and then grabs a couple of books. "Okay, so I have therapy every Monday and Friday from three to four, and then I have PT on Wednesday and Saturday, three to three forty-five. Luckily, school is out, so I won't have to worry about anything getting in the way of classes. Ooh, and turns out, there's a yoga studio near our house, have y'all ever done yoga?"

John begins laughing as my face flushes and heats up. He places his hand on my knee and looks to Phillip. "Okay, I'm in my last year of college, his second to last year of college. Maria and Eliza want to take us on a double date to do couples yoga. It's going great because yes, I had done yoga before, and yes, the Schuyler lesbians were very graceful and balanced. This mother fucker right here, at the end of the class, tries to do a headstand, pulls out his back, spends three days lying in bed doing nothing because he could not move, and then complains that yoga didn't help."

"It didn't!" I say, throwing my hands up.

"You pulled out your back being reckless," Phillip deadpans.

"Alright, maybe so!" I admit. "But back to the origin of this conversation, no, I did not know we have a yoga studio by our house. Is it new?"

Phillip nods. "Oh, yeah, total gentrification thing. Anyway, it's a yoga studio and my therapist says I should find a physical activity to do, and then when I groaned very loudly, he suggested yoga, so that's something I wanna try out."

"That sounds interesting," John says. "Alright, are you ready?"

Phillip looks around his room, taking it in for a second, then nods. "Yeah, I'm fucking ready. I have  _missed_ the gross streets of Manhattan and the sweaty air of the Subway and the Russian street vendors shouting 'you want fucking shirt? Tee shirt? American, American, come get tee shirt.' I love how they call tourists 'American' like New York isn't part of fucking America. Like, just because were revolted pretty hard against it for a pretty long time, doesn't mean we've gotten our independence yet."

"You say 'yet' as if we're going to eventually," John laughs, standing up and carrying the big duffle bag.

"Let the kid have aspirations," I tease. We open the door and begin to walk down the hall. We're almost at the elevator when a tall skinny blonde girl basically tackles Phillip in a hug. He has an easy time lifting her feet off the ground and spinning her around a little bit, laughing as he hugs her. She doesn't seem to want to let go, but Phillip does set her back down and release her, holding her at arm's length.

"You email me every day, right?" Phillip says as if they had been talking about this before. "Every day. I'll reply."

"And when I get out, you owe me a coffee, five hundred sheets of origami paper, and half a Hershey's chocolate bar," she chuckles, gently kissing his cheek.

"Then I'm gonna beat you at Uno," Phillip states with the confidence of a thousand men.

"Oh, you're on, Hamilton," she laughs.

"Any time, in place, Kingsley," Phillip shoots back. She waves and then skips off, leaving us to step on the elevator that John has been holding open for the last few seconds.

"She a friend?" I ask slowly.

Phillip nods, smiling. "Georgia Kingsley. Real sweet girl. She's the one who taught me origami. We played a lot of board games together."

"Is she, is she okay?" John asks carefully.

Phillip shrugs. "She's been struggling with an eating disorder for a while, but she has been taking serious steps to get better lately, so I think she should be out by the time I get back from France, which is cool. I gotta make sure to get some cool French candies. The girl has a serious sweet tooth."

I smile. "Well, I'm glad you made a friend. Are you ready to go home?"

Phillip nods, groaning. "I never realized how much I loved our beautiful art room until I was confined to the big rec room to do my work. Peace and quiet is not something that is easily found in places like those, but there was good music sometimes."

"Oh, yeah, how are your hands?" John asks, stepping out of the elevator.

Phillip shrugs. "The PT I'm taking is helping, though they definitely get tired and hurting easily. I got a few tips from kids who were staying there. Ice really helps, B vitamins and minerals like magnesium help too."

"Well, I'm pretty sure we have all of those," John chuckles as we walk into the parking lot. "Oh, we kinda have a present for you in the car, and we hope you like it, and your doctor said it would help a lot, so, uh, yeah."

"Thank God, you finally got me my man slave?" Phillip jokes.

"Close," I say, opening the back door and letting Sam jump out. Phillip squeals and instantly kneels down to the dog, letting it push him to the ground and lick his face. Phillip is laughing so hard, running his hands over the dog's head, closing his eyes and trying to keep his chin up so the dog doesn't lick his mouth.

"I love it! Who is this?" He says, giggling as he sits up.

"This is Sam, your dog," I state, smiling a bit.

"Sam! Like the piano player!" Phillip laughs, kissing the dog's face.

John leans into me, nudging me as we watch Phillip play with and kiss the dog, laughing and giggling. "Hey," John starts. "Look. He's happy."

I sigh, leaning back against John and smiling big, watching my son, the one who was bleeding out in our second story bathtub barely five months ago, playing with his dog and laughing and smiling. The way his cheeks flush because he has enough iron, the way his hands don't shake, the way his eyes light up. He looks so much healthier, so much happier, and that makes me happy too. I always thought parents were just being sappy when they said they loved their kid more than anything, but now I get it. Now I get every time a parent said 'they're my pride and joy.' Now I get every time a parent made a sacrifice for their kid without even thinking. I love Phillip more than anything in this world. He is my son, my perfect, wonderful, funny, smart ass, intelligent, happy son. "Yeah, he is."


	40. Shit boy, you got me helpless (Finale)

 

/Phillip/

"Dammit, Theo!" Georges says, running into his hotel room, dressed in nothing but tye-dye and a hula skirt. "I smell like hookah and I have ten minutes to get into a tux and do my makeup! I told you we shouldn't have stayed there that long! Oh, God, Casimir's family is here, and they're totally gonna know."

"Relax," Theo sings, flopping down on the hotel cot that she agreed to sleep on since she's just one person who isn't getting married. "It's not a big deal."

"Theo!" I laugh, beginning to slip off my tee shirt so I can change into my suit. "He's getting married! It's a little bit of a bit deal."

"Oh, Phillip, what do you do to get the scent of drugs off of you?" Georges asks, slipping off his hula skirt and tye-dye tee shirt, trying to find some hairspray.

"Oh, come here," I say, gesturing for him to move over to my bag.

"Wow, y'all smell like you just got out of a smoky room, I thought you were just gonna get some milk or something, and now my fiance is wearing booty shorts and Theo is, Theo is masturbating or scratching, I can't tell," says Peter, walking out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

"Well, you shouldn't have left us unsupervised," I say, tugging the booty shorts down so they stop riding up my ass as I get out some perfume for Georges. I turn to him and spritz him. "It's made specifically for people needing to cover up the smell of drugs. Smells like pine trees, that good?"

Georges nods, tilting his head down so I can get his hair, then going back to his suit.

"For the record," Theo states. "I was scratching. Also, Georges, I might bang your sister in law. I was seriously feeling her last night. And she was feeling me. We were kind drunk, but she sent me a picture of her ass this morning so..."

"I love how this friend group always has to have at least one person sleeping around, and we've all taken turns," Peter chuckles, slipping on some boxers. "Although, Phillip and I were at the same time."

"Georges lost his virginity and then he was like, unstoppable," Theo jokes. "I mean, people never believed he was a virgin until seventeen."

"Enough about my virginity!" Georges says, trying to button up his dress shirt with shaking hands. "I'm getting married in exactly twenty minutes and I don't have half of my look put together, so no distractions."

"Does that mean I can't suck Peter's dick right now?" I ask slowly.

"Yes, that's exactly what it means," Georges says, laughing.

"Damn," I mutter.

Georges is getting married today to a man named Casimir. He's white, pretty blonde hair and hazel eyes, plump pink lips and a short and soft body. They met in France, fell in love, and moved to Maine together. They dated for a few years until Georges finally dropped the question. Now, Georges' groomsmen, Peter, Theo, and I, are in his hotel room, trying to make up for the lost time spent taking hits off of a hookah.

We are all twenty-seven, still barely managing life, mad at our parents for making it look so easy. Theo is a rice farmer in Japan, which is really fitting for her. She spends her day's harvesting and tending to crops, wearing denim overalls and nothing else. She works for a group of lesbians and from what I've heard, they harvest rice and have big orgy's. Theo is living her life though, titties out and legs open. She also has a goat and a sheep, as well as a little bird that sits on her head all day. Peter and I visit her whenever we're nearby, and it's pretty funny to have to remind her to wear a shirt into public.

Georges is a high tech digital designer for an American company that works to make transgender apparel and clothing for transgender people. Stuff like binders for chests, compactors or genitalia, packers for lack of genitalia. He's in charge of advertising, getting paid a fair amount and living in a good house off the coast of Maine. He and Casimir have been together since they were twenty-two, so now, at twenty-seven, they're finally getting hitched. They are really happy together, which causes me to occasionally tease them.

Peter and I have been engaged for five years. We stayed together through our last year of high school, biked around Asia for our gap year, easily stayed together during college, me in Amsterdam and him in Turkey. After I graduated, I got a job with a magazine that advocated for human rights, sending me to impoverished countries. This worked out for Peter because I could request to be stationed somewhere, and Peter was a traveling teacher, which sent him all around the world. The two of us literally moved every two years, going to places like Zimbabwe, Rio, Vietnam, anywhere. We literally have not stopped traveling, and I love it.

After I got released from the psych hospital, things just got better. I had to recover, most definitely. I stopped having sex for a few years, I focused on myself a lot. Peter and I were a little on and off, nothing bad, I just needed a bit of a break sometimes. Peter was very patient though, not freaking out about my occasional week-long disappearances, as long as I told him first. Those were usually spent meditating and relaxing in Icelandic hot springs and doing some weird religious things that weren't my religion. I got better though, felt better about myself, stopped needed so much therapy. I still have to get my wrists checked on every six months, but the scars are no longer there thanks to probably unhealthy amounts of ink. My parents say I went a little overboard with the tattoos, but after covering pretty much my whole body, I don't have time for regret. I still like them anyway. So does Peter.

"Alright, this is a mess," Georges groans, running his hand through his short curly hair. "Someone, go get my papa."

"I got it," I say, buttoning up my white dress shirt, pink booty shorts still on, my very very long black curly hair getting in the way of my vision.

"Anyone else?" Georges asks, looking around.

"Hey, what's wrong with me?" I say, pouting.

Georges stares at me. "You'll most likely be seeing Casimir's parents, and they are very uptight, already not liking the idea of him marrying another man, I don't want them to think I'm friends with inked up bottoms who walk around in short shorts that say 'bootylicious' on the back of them. Besides, I think you may want to hide a certain tattoo from Peter's parents."

"Which one?" I snort, thinking about the tattoo I have of Peter on my thigh in a very, well, suggestive position.

"The one on your face, Phillip," Theo deadpans, totally naked, trying to untangle her bra from her suit.

My hand goes up to the black ink, resting on my cheekbone. It's of Nevis, as well as the islands around it. I got it a few weeks ago since Peter and I have recently gone to Nevis for him to teach and me to take photos. I do work for my magazine, but I also sell my photos on the side, making that extra money. Anyway, since the tattoo is recent, no one but Peter, Theo, and Georges have seen it.

"I'll go," Peter laughs. "I have no suggestive tattoos."

"Hey, put on pants," I throw out. "That ass is mine."

"That's not what you were saying last night in that hot spring," Peter laughs, slipping on some sweatpants. "Georges, I'll be back with your papa in two minutes."

"Thank you," Georges sighs, falling onto his bed.

"Are you excited?" Theo asks.

Georges looks over at her. "I'm fucking terrified. I just, I don't know. We might have to call them and say we need more than the fifteen minutes I've been given. You know, next time one of us gets married, I won't let this happen. Phillip, you don't have to worry."

I scoff. "Psh, I'm gonna have a nudist wedding in the slums of France."

"When are you gonna get married?" Theo complains, slipping on some nice underwear. "It's been like, five years and y'all still haven't gotten hitched."

I shrug. "Peter and I don't have the money or time commitment for a wedding right now. I mean, Georges, this cost, what, fifty thousand dollars? I don't have that kind of cash lying around. I don't even get the whole appeal of some big picture perfect wedding. Nothing is big and picture-perfect ever. Why can't a wedding reflect the life you've had?"

"Well, you don't need to rent out a whole fucking hotel on some mountain top in the middle of Maine," Theo scoffs. "Why don't you just, I dunno, go to the beach with some food and drink and pot, get an officiant to do his thing, sign the papers, and then just drink and party all night? I can guarantee you, no one is going to mind that."

"Okay, why are you talking about my wedding?" I complain. "Georges is the one who's about to get hitched and he's only wearing boxer briefs and a buttplug."

"I'm not wearing a buttplug," Georges deadpans.

"Freedom of speech," I shoot back, laughing.

Georges groans. "I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Well don't do that," Theo mumbles.

"Ah, fuck," Georges says quickly, getting up and sprinting to the bathroom. I'm right behind him, gently getting down next to him and holding his hair back as he vomits. I gently rub his back, letting him throw up until he finally leans over the toilet bowl, breathing heavy with some tears rolling down his face.

"Mon fils," I hear Lafayette's quiet voice say.

Georges looks up from the toilet bowl, some tears running down his face. "You guys never said that getting married was this stressful."

Lafayette gives Georges an empathetic look. "Phillip, would you excuse us for a second? Maybe call up Casimir and tell him we're gonna need another half hour?"

"As the honorary best man, I would consider it an honor," I state, standing up and exiting the bathroom. Theo and Peter give me questioning looks as I pick up my phone, so I decide to answer their questions. "He's nervous, needs another half hour, so I'm gonna call his bottom."

"Ah," Theo nods.

I dial Casimir's number and wait for three rings before he picks up. "Bonjour, Casimir, it's Phillip, Georges' best man. Do you think we can put the wedding on hold for another half hour? Theo and I may or may not have accidentally taken him out for a bit too long, and he's just feeling a little nervous and isn't ready at all."

"Oui, oui!" Casimir laughs. "Non, I am, I am looking unprepared myself. Tell him I love him. Oh, mon tendre Georges."

"Alright," I chuckle. "I will. Au revoir."

"Au revoir," Casimir says.

I walk back to the closed bathroom door, leaning my head against it a bit. "Casimir is in the exact same situation from what I heard, so instead of fifteen, you guys have forty-five minutes. He wanted me to tell you he loves you."

I can hear Georges chuckle and sniffle, then quietly say. "Je t'aime Casimir, merci Phillip. Un moment."

"Take your time," I insist. I then turn to Peter and Theo. "Alright, now let's begin the struggle of getting into the three-piece suits that Georges wanted us to wear."

Suddenly, Georges phone starts buzzing with a call from Casimir. Deciding I shouldn't let it go to voicemail, I pick it up, pressing it to my ear. I'm expecting some sweet talk of a vanilla French voice initiating phone sex, but instead, I get panicked English talking very fast.

"The photographer just quit he said he had a family affair to attend to and I don't know where we're going to get another one, Georges, do you know anyone who could do it? Oh god, I don't want any of my family doing it because they take such horrible photos and I know you have a bunch of artsy family here and I was wondering if you know someone who could-"

I cut Casimir off. "Hey, Phillip here. I went to college for four years and mastered photography, I can do it."

Casimir gasps. "Oh, Phillip, are you sure? You are Georges' best man and I don't want you to miss that and-"

"Hey, calm down," I chuckle. "There's another photographer here who can take pictures while y'all are getting married, I'll handle the after party and everything else, alright?"

"Oh, merci, merci, merci!" Casimir squeals then hangs up.

"We cannot tell Georges that his photographer just quit," I mumble, looking to Peter and Theo. "I'm gonna call Peggy and she's going to take pictures of the ceremony while I handle the afterparty. Alright?"

Peter nods. "You better save a dance for me though."

I roll my eyes, smiling as I dial Peggy's number and put her on speaker while I take off my shorts and put on some underwear. It rings three times and then she picks up, obviously just finished laughing at something. "Hey, Phillip, what's up?"

"You wanna be a photographer for this wedding? Just the ceremony, I'll handle the after party. The one they hired just quit on them and they're kinda in a bind." I begin to slip on my pants, the suspenders in my hand.

"Oh, yeah, totally," Peggy states. "Anything for my nephew. I don't have my camera on me though and I'm already in the ceremony area."

"Alright, cool," I mumble, buttoning them. "I'll bring mine down since I'm still in my hotel room. It's the same as yours, with all the functions and stuff. You can handle it, right?"

"Of course," Peggy laughs. "Now, I'll leave you to get ready. See you soon."

"See you soon," I chuckle.

I hang up and begin to struggle with the suspenders, Theo and Peter, who got them gracefully on, laughing at me. I flip them off and continue struggling until finally, Theo comes over and helps me. I then put on my white button up, tucking it in and putting the suspenders on over my shoulders, smiling in the mirror at how good I look.

"Alright, I need Georges' suit, some eye drops, mascara, and eyebrow filler," Lafayette states, coming out of the bathroom.

"Here's his suit," Peter states, handing Lafayette the clothing bag.

I give him a handful of little one use eye drops the lady at the hospital always gives me. "Here's some eye drops. Really good. They make me go from stoned to sober in seconds."

"Ah, Hamilton, so reliable," Lafayette chuckles.

"Mascara and eyebrow filler," Theo says, handing over three different types of mascara and four different colors of eyebrow filler. "I gave you some options."

"You three are great," Lafayette smiles, walking back into the bathroom.

"Marriage seems like a terrifying thing," Theo says.

Peter laughs, slipping on his blazer over the black vest. "Why do you think Phillip and I have been engaged for five years?"

"You guys think that weddings have to be big and fancy and expensive when really, I wouldn't mind just watching you guys sign some papers and then get drunk," Theo states plainly, unbuttoning her dress shirt kinda low so it will stop coming apart at her boobs.

"Yeah, but what about the fact that everyone we know has had a beautiful white wedding with gorgeous decorations and amazing destinations, so I mean, what does it say about us when we sort of just, I dunno, don't try?" I say slowly. "I mean, I really don't care how we get married, but I do care about the fact that Peter has some uppity family and I don't want them to think of me as like, trailer trash."

"I think it says that you guys don't care how you express your love, you just want to show the world you're in love," Theo explains. "I mean, Peter, do you give a shit what your uppity family thinks?"

Peter shakes his head. "I wouldn't even want to invite them. They turn everything into some pissing contest, and no matter what our wedding looked like, they'd find some way to be better than us."

"What would you guys do if you had a week to plan your wedding? Where would it be? What would it involve?" Theo asks.

"It would probably be where we are now, Nevis," Peter states.

I nod. "Lots of fruit and Caribbean dishes for the food. Maybe we'd hire Monty, a guy who makes killer food just down the street from our place, to cater. He's cheap and he likes us a lot, so he'd do it."

"Oh, we could do it on Emma's beach," Peter suggests. "She always teases us, saying we can use it whenever we're ready. Oh, what about seating and stuff?"

"Well, we could get some white plastic tables and just put table clothes over them, and it's a beach, everyone can sit on towels and what not," I laugh, buttoning up the black vest.

"So I'm guessing we'd be wearing casual beach wear?" Peter guesses, smiling at me.

"Better than putting on a suit," I shrug. "We could get weed from our Jamaican weed guy. Since it's for our wedding, he'd probably give us a discount. Get beer and drinks from the corner store, yeah?"

"Perfect," Peter nods.

"There!" Theo exclaims, trying to push her boob down a bit. "You just planned out your fucking wedding!"

I look at Peter. "Did we?"

He laughs. "Shit, we did. And honestly, that sounds like a fucking great wedding."

I lean in, gently tugging on his beard, kissing his lips. His facial hair isn't too long, just a couple of inches. I like it, really. It makes him look so grown up. As he got older, his body stayed the same. Muscled, thick, firm. His skin got somehow darker from all the sun he's been getting, and his face got a bit more structured, but he's still gorgeous as ever. His deep brown eyes can still kill me with a single glance, and the way he looks, just standing there in all his glory, it makes my knees weak.

"It does," I agree. We'll do it in the next two years or so, while we're still in Nevis. I don't want to do this right after Georges' wedding, but I do want to do it soon, now that we have a plan, you know?"

Peter laughs. "I know. What are you going to do with your hair?"

I sigh and turn to the mirror, looking at my hair. It's gotten really long, down to my waist almost. "I'll just put it in a bun. Get it outta my face. What about you?"

Peter fluffs up his foot long dreads, smiling. "I'll just, I'll just put them up in a ponytail, you know? Keep them out of my face but ready to be taken down."

"Good, because Georges is gonna be in the honeymoon suit tonight, and Theo is most likely going to be in Georges' sister-in-law's room, so we'll have this place all to ourselves." I lean in, so a smirking Theo can't hear what I'm about to say. "And while Georges may not be wearing a butt plug, I sure as hell am."

"You know, I don't know why you do this to me," Peter groans, leaning against me. "Now I'm gonna be thinking about that all night. If I'm hard in Georges' wedding photos, it's your fault."

"Just make eye contact with your parents if that happens," I laugh, finding my fitted blazer. "Trust me, it's really easy not to be turned on when you're looking at your parents. Oh, or think about sweaty parent sex, that'll help."

"You are the human version of a headache, I love you," Peter groans, falling onto the bed next to a fully dressed Theo, minus the bra she got sick of. I think her nudist lifestyle is starting to really affect her because this is the first time she's worn a bra in two years and it came off almost immediately.

"You know, y'all are fucking white rabbits," Theo points out, laughing as I lay down between Peter's legs, my head on his stomach.

"It's not my fault he's horny like, twenty-four seven," Peter states.

"Ah, Pip, some things never change," Theo laughs. "Do you still carry around condoms like James carries around an inhaler?"

I pull three out of the inside pocket of my suit. "Of course, dear. I also slipped some in Georges' suit pocket just in case."

"Wow, brotherhood shit," Theo snorts. "You need me to put your hair up?"

"Yes, please," I state, sitting up. I slide off the bed and sit on the floor, leaning against it while Theo sits with either of her legs beside me, getting my hair up and beginning to put it in a bun. Peter pulls out his phone, still lying back, not bothering to put his hair up just yet.

The three of us look up when Lafayette steps out, beginning to do a drumroll on his dress pants. "Ladies and gentlemen! The moment you've been waiting for! The first to get married! Georges Washington de Lafayette!"

Out steps Georges, hair done, makeup done, suit on, lips curved upwards. He looks, he looks great. He looks happy.

"Awh, shit boy," Theo says, finishing up my hair. "Lookin' like James Bond or some shit."

"Georges is gonna be getting some tonight!" Peter cheers.

I stand up and embrace Georges, smiling and crying a little bit. "I'm so fucking proud of you. I just can't believe my best friend is getting married."

"Aw, Pip, don't cry," Georges laughs. "Maybe you two can come up to Maine for a few years, live here. Besides, it's just marriage. You're still one of my closest comrades."

I wipe my cheeks on the back of my sleeve. "Whatever, you go, go do your marriage thing. Go, get married. I'm proud of you."

"Phillip has emotions!" Theo teases, laughing.

"Told you guys," Peter smiles, sitting up and pulling a yellow rubberband of his wrist to tie his hair up. "Are we getting down there?"

Georges nods, smiling. "Yes, we are."

"Okay," I mumble, going into my big suitcase and pulling out my camera bag. "I'll give this to Peggy when we're down there, and then, then I'm walking with, uh, fucking Ingrid or someone? Who's that blonde bitch I have to walk down the aisle?"

"Yes, it's Ingrid, don't call her a bitch to her face," Georges requests as we walk down the hallway. "Alright, papa? Dad's already down there, right? Both of you are walking me to the altar, and I don't want to have a missing person fiasco."

"Right, he is," Lafayette states, smiling.

"Okay, and-" Georges cuts himself off. "Theo your boobs."

She gives him a flat look. "Listen, the shirt wouldn't stay closed, and the bra was annoying. I have a tank top on under this, so my nipples won't be showing, but my tits are just too big. Besides, your sister-in-law won't mind."

"I'm glad Theo is getting French pussy, she needs a change in scenery," I say, nodding slowly. "Maybe we should all date Georges' family-in-law."

"There's still a parent here!" Lafayette calls out.

"Okay, as I was saying," Georges continues. "Phillip, why do you have your camera and why are you giving it to Peggy?"

"Oh, your photographer quit on your last minute so Peggy and I are gonna handle it. Don't worry. I already talked about it with Casimir, it's all good."

"Jesus, okay," Georges mutters. "I'm never having a wedding again. Casimir better be the one, because if he's not, I'm not doing any of this ever again. You hear? Never again. And if I do, it's gonna be quick and easy."

"Like me in high school," I say, snorting.

"Exactly like you in high school," Georges nods. "Okay, so, how much longer? Oh, shit, I don't know. We didn't really set a timer. Let's see, the reception was supposed to start at three, but now it's at three thirty, and it's three fifteen right now, so I walk down the aisle in fifteen minutes. Oh, Phillip, do you think you could go steal me food from the reception hall or-"

Peter cuts him off by handing him a granola bar. "I always have food on me. I have a string cheese as well, in case you're still hungry."

"Man, Peter is fucking reliable," Theo points out.

I nod. "He really is. Okay, do we like, have a place we can hang out and stuff?"

Georges nods. "All of the groomsmen for Casimir are in a room, and Casimir is in another room with his dad and mom. Oh, Phillip, can you go check on him? I can't see him but I want to make sure he's okay."

"Yeah, sure," I nod.

We make it to the rooms and I part ways with the four of them, going to the dark wood door of Casimir's room. I knock gently, leaning in to hear a voice. It's quiet, but I do hear a small, 'come in.' I push open the door to see Casimir sitting at his vanity, crying softly. I'm quick to swoop in and put my arms around him, not seeing his parents anywhere. That's worrying.

"Hey, no, don't cry, don't cry," I say softly. "Shh, no, it's okay."

He sniffles, wiping his cheeks. "My parents left. They said they didn't want to be apart of this. They didn't want to be here for this."

"Oh, honey," I say softly, taking a tissue and dabbing away some smudged eyeliner. "Are you okay? What do you need? What is going to help this?"

He shrugs, slumping down a little bit. "I don't know. I don't have anyone to walk me down the aisle anymore. I don't really want to just go down alone."

I pause, thinking. "Hold on, I'm gonna get you the greatest man and woman you will ever have the honor of knowing. They offered a family to my father when he had no one, same with Georges' papa. I know they will not hesitate to be there for you. I'm sorry your parents left, but two people are nothing when you're joining our family. You will be with some of the best, most loyal people tonight, and I can guarantee, everyone would take a bullet for you, including me." I pause, gently pushing some of Casimir's pretty blonde hair behind his ear. "You are so wonderful to Georges. I see how happy you make him, how big he smiles when he talks about you, and I'm so grateful he found someone like you. You deserve him, and he deserves you. I'm happy to call you my brother, Casimir. Nous sommes une famille."

Casimir smiles, wiping a few tears from his cheeks. "Thank you, thank you so much, Phillip. Thank you for your blessing, for your love. I can see why Georges cares about you so much. You're so wonderful."

I smile, gently kissing his cheek. "I'll be right back. You're not going to walk down that aisle alone. I promise."

I stand up and leave the room, quickly going to the ceremony hall. I walk down the rows to the front, where I see Washington and Martha, sitting next to each other and laughing. They've aged well, both of them now retired, living in a large house on Long Island with their dogs. They're' still so very in love, and all of us visit them as much as possible. The fact that seventy years have passed them by barely shows. Smile lines grace their cheeks, Martha's hair is grey, their eyes have permanent wrinkles in the corners, but they still go out, walk, live. Retirement has treated them well, and since my dad runs the company, they don't have to worry about it.

"Phillip, it's nice to see you!" Says Washington when he notices me standing next to him.

I lean down so only he and Martha can hear me. "Hey, uh, Casimir's parents just left, and they aren't coming back. He has no one to walk him down the aisle and I was wondering if-"

Washington stands up quickly. "Well what are we sitting around for? Take us to him, we are adopting him now."

I laugh, leading them down the aisle and quickly waving to my parents and Peter's parents, thanking the lord that my face tattoo is on the other side. I hand off my camera to Peggy really quick, just so I don't forget. We get to Casimir's door and I gently push it open. He's still at his vanity, reapplying makeup.

"Hey," I say, smiling.

"Son, I'm George and this is my wife Martha," Washington states, smiling as he sits down and makes himself at home. "We're sorry we couldn't meet you at the dinner last night, but our plane flew in late. We'd be honored to walk you down the aisle if you'll have us."

"Oh," Casimir said, his mouth curving upward. "Of course. Thank you, thank you. I did not plan for this, but I'm so glad you guys have taken to me already. I was very nervous to meet Georges' family, seeing as I am sometimes a lot to handle."

Washington laughs. "I once watched Phillip's dad launch himself over two rows of seats to punch someone in the jaw. Trust me, you're fine."

Casimir laughs and I step back into the doorway. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I gotta get back to Georges. He's probably worried by now, knowing him."

"Tell him I love him," Casimir smiles.

"Of course," I reply, nodding and closing the door, going to Georges' room. When I step in, I immediately feel the contrast to Casimir's room. Instead of the gentle calm that came with the short man, there was yelling, flirting, and the smell of a vape in the air that most likely belongs to Peter. Georges is talking to his dad, Theo is flirting with Casimir's sister, Ella, and Casimir's other sister, Ingrid, is arguing with Casimir's brother, Eric. Peter is on the couch, staring at the whole scene with wide eyes, his vape in his hand.

"This is a shit show," he says as I sit down next to him.

"You just figured that out?" I say, laughing as I steal the vape from his hand and take a hit. "God, if our wedding ever becomes this high stress, we should cancel it."

Peter nods, pushing the button on the vape while it's still in my hand and taking a hit. "People should be required to eat one pot brownie before they come. And also, Casimir and maybe Ella are the only ones we should invite from this family. Seriously, how did such a laid back and exciting French guy come from such a stuck up group of people."

I shrug. "Honestly, I have no idea."

"Phillip, does your dad know you vape?" Hercules asks, his eyebrow raised.

"My dad doesn't have to know everything about me," I chuckle. "My pop doesn't know either, but I wouldn't care if they did. What are they gonna do? Ground me?"

"It's better than you smoking cigarettes like your dad," Herc says.

"Half an hour ago he was glued to a hookah," Georges rats, smirking at me.

I scoff, ignoring Peter slowly pulling the vape out of my hands. "You little snitch! You're lucky it's your wedding day or I would totally be on your ass right now! Didn't your papa or dad teach you that snitching is rude?"

Lafayette laughs. "Probably at one point, but knowing him, he wasn't listening."

"Alright, alright!" Theo calls out, getting out attention. "I just got a text for Casimir himself. He's ready when we are. Everyone get paired up. I'm with Eric, Phillip, you're with Ingrid, and Peter, you're with Ella. Georges goes out first, then Phillip and Ingrid, me with Eric, and Peter with Ella. Then our groom of the hour, so let's get a move on."

"Ingrid," I greet, smiling lightly and holding out my arm so she can take it.

She sneers at me but takes my arm regardless. She really doesn't like me for the person I am in entirety. Tattoos, gay fiance, sarcastic humor and a lovely habit of doing shots with Casimir, not knowing that he was a lightweight. Whenever she looks at me, it's like she's looking at the scum of the earth. She turns up her nose, scoffs, tuts away.

"You know," I say in a low voice. "Think what you wish about me, but while you're spending tonight nursing a bottle of gin, my fiance is going to be pounding into me like-"

"Phillip, play nice!" Georges interrupts, turning around from his place in front of me.

I smile, then begin walking. The music starts and Georges is walking down the aisle, his fathers on either arm. I'm walking after him, smiling at my parents, returning a fist bump to Eliza, seeing Peggy run around and take photos, trying to cause too much of a disturbance. I can hear Theo laughing behind me, and I can only roll my eyes. I make eye contact with Angelica and she touches the space on her face where my tattoo would be, with a knowing smile. I had been covering it up with makeup for the past couple of days, so this would be the first time everyone sees it. I offered to cover it for the wedding, but Georges said he wanted me to be nothing but myself today, which I appreciate.

I get to the front, standing next to Georges. I lean into him, quietly, and then do something I've always wanted to do at a wedding. I pull up memories of The Princess Bride and try to hold back a laugh as I nudge him. "Mawage, mawage is what bwings us togeda today."

Georges snorts, covering his mouth, trying not to continue laughing, but failing as I lean into him and laugh a bit myself. We're both trying to calm down, attracting some looks from people and some laughs from our parents. Georges shuts up really quick, and it takes one glance to realize why. Casimir is walking down the aisle, Washington on one arm, Martha on the other. Georges gasps, bringing his hand up to his mouth.

"Holy shit," Theo whispers.

Casimir's white suit looks really beautiful on him, his golden tie and his black shoes shining nicely. He looks amazing, and no one in the room can deny that. Man, Georges really knows how to pick them. I mean, I'm totally committed to Peter, but every boyfriend Georges has had has been like, gorgeous. Peter and I have talked about many a time when we meet them or see pictures, comfortable enough to acknowledge the beauty of other people together.

"We are gathered here today to unite two lovers in holy matrimony," begins the pastor. He goes on, talking about love, talking about life, talking about how from today on out, Georges and Casimir will truly have each other for the rest of their lives. Of course, he stops when a small sob breaks from Lafayette's chest. All of us look over to see the French man crying, tears running gently down his cheeks as he dabs them with a white kerchief.

"My little boy is getting married," he says between hiccups.

Georges holds up one finger, then gently steps off the altar and pulls his papa into a hug. I can't help but let out an 'aw' at how cute the gesture is, looking over at Casimir to see that the man practically has heart eyes. Georges lets go of his dad, saying something quietly in French, then goes back up to the altar, nodding to the pastor to continue.

The ceremony goes by, and finally, Georges is pulling Casimir into his arms and kissing him, the whole audience clapping. Georges is crying a little bit and Casimir is crying a little bit and I'm crying and Theo is crying and Lafayette is crying. We're all crying.

"Woohoo!" I say as we all walk down the aisle. "Party time! Pour up, it's your wedding day! Let's get turnt!"

"Phillip, you're a fucking mess," Georges laughs, turning around with his arms around his husband. "We have Grey Goose vodka just for you."

I smile. "This is why you're my best friend." I look around and find Peggy, quickly telling her I can take my camera from here. She obliges and I instantly get a picture of Georges and Casimir from behind, walking to the celebration hall. Peter has his arm around me, his hand in my back pocket, and is smiling like an idiot.

"Man," he says. "I'm so glad we are never going to have to go through a big wedding."

I nod. "I don't think I'm getting paid to take photos, but that's okay. How about, for our wedding, we just get one of our friends to take photos, or maybe have people do it in shifts. I dunno, we have time to figure it out."

Peter laughs as I hold my camera up and snap a picture of Georges and Casimir kissing as they walk. I smile at the photo, making my way into the celebration hall. It's a big area, with food and drink. I'm instantly off, taking photos of family, friends. Georges and Casimir cutting the wedding cake. I get two shots. One of the horror in Casimir's face and an evil smirk on Georges' face as they hold the plates in their hands, and then one of Georges rubbing cake into Casimir's face. I get a picture of Theo and Georges' sister-in-law making out too. I get a picture of Georges and his parents, smiling. I get a picture of Washington with Casimir, both of them laughing at something. Then, the first dance. I get 360 degrees of shots, annoying a few onlookers but ignoring their grunts. Finally, it's time for everyone to dance, but I'm still taking photographs, almost forgetting I have a fiance who's sitting with all the singles, talking and laughing while I actively record every bit of tonight.

"Fuck," I groan, letting my camera hang from the strap as my wrist on my right hand begins to cramp up badly. I instantly begin rubbing it, trying to get it to stop, though it seems a little hopeless. In seconds, Peter is in front of me, rubbing my wrist gently, working his hand in just the right spot to make it disappear. Peggy is next to him, smiling as I sigh gently, flexing my hands a few times.

"Gimme the camera," Peggy says. "Take a break. You've been doing this for two hours. I can take it from here."

"My hand is fine," I insist. "It was just a cramp. I get them all the time."

"Ah, that's nice, but here's the thing," Peggy says, taking my camera from me. "I don't give half a rats ass that's you're just fine. You have been working all night, you don't have a single drink in you, and your fiance has been talking to my single gay homewrecker friend all night and I want you to think about the fact that he just looked at me and said 'you sure he's really committed to Phillip?' Go, I'll take pictures, you dance and spend time with you're soon to be husband. Have fun."

I roll my eyes as she walks away, then look at an amused Peter. "I have been kinda neglecting you all night, haven't I?"

"Maybe a little bit, but I do have some cute photos of you taking pictures, and one weird one where you're taking a picture from under a table," Peter says, taking my hand and leading me to the drinks table. "Now, I think you need to stop being at work and start being at your friend's wedding. Let's take a shot and then parade your new face tattoo around."

I roll my eyes as he grabs two shot glasses and fills them with some vodka. He hands me mine, planting a quick kiss on my lips before the both of us down the bitter alcohol. I smile, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him, not minding that he grabs a handful of my ass and squeezes it, regardless of any onlookers.

"Let's dance," I say, smiling and pulling him onto the dance floor.

Fun dance music plays as we hold each other, dancing and smiling as we slip in small conversations with people over the loud music. Peter keeps me close, not even letting me think about asking Peggy for my camera back. Peter kisses me, smiling and accidentally pulling hair out of my bun.

"Hey, Phillip," James states as Peter and I stand by the drink table. "You have something on your face." He licks his thumb and rubs it over the tattoo. He makes a confused face, then does it again, his face slowly coming to realization. "Oh."

I laugh nervously. "Heh. Got it a few weeks ago. Been covering it with makeup for the past few days, but Georges said I should just keep it uncovered for the wedding because he didn't want me to be anything but myself. Cheesy, I know."

"And did Peter know you were gonna..." James trails off.

"He was there when I got it," I chuckle.

"Phillip got a face tattoo? Sick! I won the pool!" Thomas yells. "Hamiltons! Schuylers! Lafayettes! Burrs! Pay the fuck up!"

"Wait, what is it this time?" My dad asks, coming over with his wallet open.

"Your son got a face tattoo at age twenty-seven! I win!" Thomas cheers. "I win!"

"I'm sorry, he what?" My dad says, coming over and taking my face in his hands. He has to stand up on his tiptoes a bit to get a good look. I see the Lafayette's laughing as they pulled money out of their wallets and my pop sighing. My dad is running his thumb over my face, over the black ink. He gently steps back a bit, smiling. "You got Nevis."

I nod, smiling. "It's your home."

My dad embraces me. "It's our home."

"Pay up, Hamilton, you owe me twenty," Thomas says. "You all owe me twenty, thank you, Angie. Twenty, twenty, twenty, twenty! I just made two hundred dollars! Phillip, you're my fucking favorite! Thank you!"

I laugh. "So I can still marry your son with a face tattoo?"

"Are you ever gonna get married? It's been like five years!" Burr states, putting money into Thomas' hand. "I mean, I get taking your time, but how long do you need?"

"Oh, we planned out our entire wedding this morning. Within the next two years, in Nevis," Peter states. "Dress code is bathing suits, and we're gonna have Carribean food from a guy we know, and there's gonna be a lot of weed."

"Wow, literally, the exact opposite of all this," my pop laughs. "Aaron, is Theo ever gonna get hitched? Or is she doing well on her lesbian rice farm?"

Aaron laughs. "You know, at this point, I don't really know. Whatever she does, I'm so proud of her either way. Laf, you know if you'll be getting grandbabies any time soon?"

Lafayette nods. "Oh, yeah, Georges has wanted kids since he was ten. I'll be lucky if they make it past the honeymoon without signing some adoption papers, finding a surrogate mom. Be prepared for that."

"Hey, let's go dance," Peter says.

I nod, downing my shot of vodka and moving to the dance floor where a slow French song plays. I put my arms around Peter's neck, smiling as we sway back and forth. I gotta say, I never thought I'd be like my dads, end up with someone I've known since I was a kid, but I'm really happy that I have Peter. Throughout all of this, he's been there for me. He's been the guy who I can always trust. He's been the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. He knows my vices, he helped me through a lot of things, and he is, well, he's perfect for me.

"So, kids," he says slowly.

"What about them?" I ask, amused.

"Do they ever come into play?" He says, shrugging and looking around.

"Do you want them to?" I continue.

He chuckles, leaning down and kissing my lips. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't. I mean, look, if you don't want to have kids, just because of our lifestyle and how we're always traveling, that's fine. But, I mean, I know traveling teachers who have kids. They still go to places, travel the world, and their kids are right there beside them. I don't think it would really stop us from like, doing what we love, and I know I'm just a high school teacher, but I've met some really great kids. I've also met some awful ones, but that's different."

"I don't want kids like me," I laugh. "I mean, if we were gonna do a surrogate mom or something, I'd want that to be all you. I don't want to be a part of that."

"Why?" Peter asks, gently spinning me a bit.

I shrug. "I know I'm fine now, but shit, you knew me. I mean, I got depression, alcoholism, drug addiction running through my DNA. I can't even imagine what my parents went through. Then there's you, perfect you. I mean, I know you got shit going on, we all do, but I just, I don't want to increase the risk of our kid ending up like me, or worse. Peter, I slit my wrists ten years ago and it still affects me. I want our kids to be happy. I want them to be like you."

Peter smiles. "I could just jizz in a turkey baster."

"That's perfect," I laugh. "Maybe, maybe not right after marriage though? I just, we're gonna get married by the time we're twenty-nine, and that's nice, but I don't want kids right then and there. I mean, both of our parents got married in their twenties, but my dads were thirty-one when they had me, and your dads were thirty-seven when they adopted you. They just, they waited until the time was right, and I want to do that too. Because honestly? I really don't feel like becoming a parent in my twenties. Too much work."

Peter nods, laughing. "Yeah, okay. And for the record, I think if our kids ended up like you, that would be wonderful. It would mean that they are smart, funny, artistic, adventurous, and never, ever boring. You give yourself so little credit for the person you are. Shit happened, and shit is going to happen, but you are always going to be Phillip Hamilton. You are always going to making jokes when people are sad to try and cheer them up. You're always gonna be complaining that I get up too early to run, even though you stay up way too late editing. You're always going to come home and somehow throw together this killer meal, then sit with me on the beach and eat it. You, you are so good, Phillip, and I love you for it. I've loved you in your punk phase, your vintage fashion phase, and now whatever you got going on. Paint and tye-dye. There's nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you, kids or no kids."

I smile. "You're so wonderful. You know that, right?"

Peter nods. "You are too, my love."

I'm about to say something, but then I see a lone Georges sneaking out the back door to a balcony, his husband talking to someone else. I bite my lip, thinking for a second, then look back to Peter. "You know, I'm gonna be right back. Gimme a second? Go dance with Theo or something. Best man duties call."

Peter nods, chuckling a bit. "Don't be gone too long. I haven't forgotten about that fucking plug, you sexy piece of ass."

I roll my eyes, backing off to the drink table. "Ten minutes, love. I promise. I know I've totally been neglecting you a bit, but there's gonna be an afterparty, just between some the friend group, a few others. I promise I won't leave your lap until tomorrow morning. Remember, I packed some toys, so, be ready."

"You're killing me!" Peter cries out.

I smile, finger gunning, then turn to get to the drink table. I grab two beers, opening them, then making my way through the crowd. I spill a bit on my hand but easily lick it off as I push my way through people and onto the balcony, where a lone Georges sits, leaning onto the railing and staring out over the fall landscape. He seems lost somewhere else, so he jumps when I set his beer on the marble railing, smiling softly at him and leaning against the railing as well, sipping the alcoholic beverage and sighing. We stand there for a bit, watching the sun and it's last few inches of light duck behind the horizon.

"You know, it's not very like you to be alone, especially on something so important as your wedding night," I say, downing another sip of beer.

Georges shrugs, swirling his beer around in the bottle. "There were a lot of people in there, too many questions coming at me from Casimir's family. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm so in love with Casimir, and I'm so happy I'm with him, I'm just glad we live an ocean away from his family. I mean, you get it."

I nod, laughing. "My God, and now I have a face tattoo. I mean, Peter's parents love me, but everyone else is like, like, awful."

Georges smiles, looking down, then over at me. "You know, for about three years, I thought that was gonna be you. Like, I thought you were gonna be the one I ended up with."

I nudge him, rolling my eyes. "I'm a ride too wild for you. I mean, I'm moving countries every two years, I have a face tattoo, and I would have never done a wedding like this."

"Oh, man, I know that," Georges laughs. "Phillip, honestly, Peter is perfect for you. You both are very happy about travel, though he is a bit more level headed than you. I just, you know I love you. You know I would take a bullet for you. You're my friend, my best friend, my brother. I'm really glad I have you in my life."

I smile, putting my arm around Georges. "I love you too, brother. You know, Casimir is so fucking cool. Like, you've had a couple of lame boyfriends, but he's so cool. I was a little skeptical about you dating a white guy, but he's like, he's so nice. You really know how to pick em, don't you?"

Georges nods, looking down and smiling. "Yeah, he's, he's great. He's really great."

I nudge him, nodding. "Afterparty, right? Just a little something. Small group, a few beers, then we'll let you have your sweet post marriage sex."

"And let you have your fucking, kinky ass rough sex in the hotel room I'm paying for," Georges chuckles. "Don't think I didn't notice the fucking ropes in your suitcase."

I laugh, sipping my beer again, and pushing him a bit. "Shut up. Just because you can't handle the idea of sex being slightly interesting, doesn't mean I can't. You know, you should try it one day. You might like it."

"Come on, let's go inside," Georges laughs. "I'm sure people are missing us."

"Hey," I say softly. "Before we do, I just want you to know that I'm so happy for you. You look so happy, you look so good. I'm just, God, I really don't know where I'm going with this. I just want you to know that I love you, and I'm so happy for you. I'm so glad you're with someone you love." I pull Georges into a hug. "I think I'm just drunk and emotional."

Georges laughs, kissing my cheek. "Hey, you're still my best friend, right?"

I nod. "And you're mine."

Georges nods. "Good. I'm gonna be with you, no matter what is happening. You always got me, no matter what. Are you ready to face whatever hell hole is in there?"

I look at Georges, smiling, twilight the golden engagement ring on my finger, enjoying the aftertaste of beer in my throat. The cool Maine air blows over my skin, the sound of music gently playing in the background. I can see Theo dancing through the glass door, Peter talking to my pop. I can Georges smiling at me, nothing but joy in his eyes. And I smile back because that's the only way I can express how happy I really am. Because even through everything, I still have my friends, my family, everyone. I still have people to love.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. We've come to the end of the series. Do I want to end it? Yeah. Do I need to end it? Yup. Do I have another book that is also Lams called A Night At The Ballet with chapters averaging about 10k words? For sure. Thanks for reading this shit.
> 
> Xoxo, Max
> 
> (no sequels, I mean it) (or do I?) (I do. I'm done with this universe. I have another book up go read that one).


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